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Title: Stories of Charlemagne
and the twelve Peers of France
Author: Alfred John Church
Illustrator: George Morrow
Release date: February 10, 2025 [eBook #75339]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Seeley and Co. Limited, 1902
Credits: Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES OF CHARLEMAGNE ***
[Frontispiece: OLIVER AND FIERABRAS.]
STORIES
OF CHARLEMAGNE
AND THE TWELVE PEERS OF FRANCE
_FROM THE OLD ROMANCES_
By the
REV. A. J. CHURCH, M.A.
Formerly Professor of Latin in University College, London
Author of "Stories from Homer," etc.
With Illustrations by
GEORGE MORROW
LONDON
SEELEY AND CO. LIMITED
38, GREAT RUSSELL STREET
1902
PREFACE
I have endeavoured to tell in this volume the story of Charlemagne,
the Charlemagne, it must be understood, not of history, but of
Romance. The two personages are curiously different. Each writer of
a romance had naturally a hero of his own. As he had to exalt this
hero, he could hardly help depreciating the king. Charlemagne
suffers by comparison with Roland and Reynaud very much as, in the
Iliad, Agamemnon, the overlord of the Greeks, suffers by comparison
with the subordinate King, Achilles. The real Charlemagne was a very
great personality, one that impressed his age as deeply as any man
has ever done; in these stories he often appears petty, capricious,
and obstinate. Then the romance writers were Frenchmen, and they
make the great king a Frenchman, holding his court in Paris, and
surrounded by great French lords. They began to write when the air
was full of the crusading spirit, and their work is coloured
accordingly. The enemy is always a Saracen or a follower of Mahomet.
There could not be a more curious instance of this than is to be
found in the story of the death of Roland. In the romance
Charlemagne's rearguard is destroyed by an overpowering force of
Saracens. What really happened was that it was attacked, probably
for the sake of plundering the baggage, by a gathering of
mountaineers, who are called Gascons by the chroniclers, but were, in
fact, Basques. Then, again, we find the romance writers in sympathy
with the great feudatories, indicating the time before the French
monarchy had become consolidated, when the king at Paris had all that
he could do to hold his own against his powerful vassals, the Dukes
of Brittany and Burgundy, and the English king.
The Charlemagne romances, as translated by Lord Berners and William
Caxton, occupy twelve volumes in the Extra Series of the Early
English Text Society. Some of these are variants of the same story.
There is a romance of "Ferumbras," for instance, which gives
substantially the same tale as that which occupies eleven chapters in
this volume. "Huon of Bordeaux," again, fills four volumes in the
Extra Series. But the original _chanson_ is contained in one of the
four and is complete in itself. This, too, I have considerably
compressed and shortened. The same process has had to be applied to
all before they could be made acceptable to the readers of to-day. I
hope that they have not lost their life and colour and human interest.
The stories of which I have made use are "The Four Sons of Aymon"
(i.-xi.); "Ralph the Collier" (xii.-xiii.), a genuinely English
production, it would seem, as no French original has been found;
"Fierabras," taken from the "Lyf of Charles the Grete" (xiv.-xxiv.);
"The Song of Roland" (xxv.-xxxv.), and "Duke Huon of Bordeaux"
(xxxvi.-xl.). This has been put last in order, as it represents
Charlemagne grown old and weary of power. The death of the great
King is only mentioned as imminent in the romance which I have
followed; I have added an abridged account of it from the
contemporary biography written by Eginhard. The story of Huon is
peculiarly interesting to us because it introduces the fairy King
Oberon, who was to become so important a figure in English literature.
I have to express my obligations to the Introduction, written by Mr.
Sidney Lee to the first part of "Duke Huon of Bordeaux."
ALFRED J. CHURCH.
OXFORD, _July_ 17, 1902.
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. THE SLAYING OF LOTHAIR
II. HOW THE DUKE BENES CAME BY HIS END
III. HOW IT FARED WITH THE BRETHREN
IV. THE COMING OF ROLAND
V. OF THE TREACHERY OF KING JOHN
VI. OF THE CRAFT OF MAWGIS
VII. MORE DEEDS OF MAWGIS
VIII. HOW MAWGIS BECAME A HERMIT
IX. OF WHAT BEFELL AT MONTALBAN
X. HOW PEACE WAS MADE
XI. OF REYNAUD'S END
XII. HOW RALPH ENTERTAINED THE KING
XIII. HOW RALPH WENT TO COURT
XIV. HOW FIERABRAS DEFIED KING CHARLES
XV. HOW OLIVER FOUGHT WITH FIERABRAS
XVI. HOW OLIVER AND OTHERS WERE TAKEN PRISONERS
XVII. HOW OLIVER AND HIS COMRADES FARED
XVIII. OF THE BRIDGE OF MANTRYBLE
XIX. OF THE DOINGS OF FLORIPAS
XX. OF THE DOINGS OF THE FRENCH KNIGHTS
XXI. OF GUY OF BURGUNDY
XXII. OF RICHARD OF NORMANDY
XXIII. HOW THE BRIDGE MANTRYBLE WAS WON
XXIV. OF THE END OF BALAN THE ADMIRAL
XXV. HOW GANELON WENT ON AN ERRAND TO KING MARSILAS
XXVI. THE TREASON OF GANELON
XXVII. OF THE PLOT AGAINST ROLAND
XXVIII. HOW THE HEATHEN AND THE FRENCH PREPARED FOR BATTLE
XXIX. THE BATTLE
XXX. HOW ROLAND SOUNDED HIS HORN
XXXI. HOW OLIVER WAS SLAIN
XXXII. HOW ARCHBISHOP TURPIN DIED
XXXIII. THE DEATH OF ROLAND
XXXIV. HOW CHARLEMAGNE SOUGHT VENGEANCE
XXXV. OF THE PUNISHMENT OF GANELON
XXXVI. HOW KING CHARLES SENT HUON ON AN ERRAND
XXXVII. HOW HUON MET WITH KING OBERON
XXXVIII. OF THE END OF THE FALSE DUKE MACAIRE
XXXIX. HOW HUON, HAVING SLAIN A GIANT, CAME TO BABYLON
XL. HOW HUON RETURNED, HIS ERRAND FULFILLED
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
OLIVER AND FIERABRAS ... Frontispiece
REYNAUD KNEELING TO ROLAND
REYNAUD AND BAYARD
RALPH IN THE PALACE OF CHARLEMAGNE
BLOWING THE GREAT COAL
THE AMBASSADORS OF KING MARSILAS
ON THE FIELD OF RONCESVALLES
HUON MEETING WITH OBERON
STORIES OF CHARLEMAGNE
AND THE TWELVE PEERS OF FRANCE
CHAPTER I
THE SLAYING OF LOTHAIR
King Charles held a great court in his capital city of Paris at the
Feast of Pentecost. Thither came the Twelve Peers of France, and
many other men of note, besides strangers from Germany, England, and
other realms. One of the chief of the Frenchmen was Aymon, Duke of
Ardennes, who brought with him his four sons, to wit, Reynaud, Alard,
Guichard, and Richard. All these four were marvellously fair, witty,
and valiant; but the fairest, wittiest, and most valiant was Reynaud,
the eldest born. There was not in the world a man of so great
strength and stature. It is of him and his brothers that this tale
is told.
King Charles stood up, and said, "Brethren and friends, you know that
by your help I have conquered many lands, and brought many pagans to
confess the Christian faith. You know also that this has not been
done without grievous loss on our part, and verily had not been done
at all but for succour that we looked not for. But the succour that
we looked for, that we had not, and notably from Duke Benes of
Aygremont. This, then, is my purpose. I will send to Duke Benes,
bidding him attend me this summer. And if he will not come, then I
will besiege him in his town of Aygremont. And when he shall come
into my hands, I will hang him, and slay his son Mawgis, and cause
that discourteous woman, his wife, to be burnt with fire."
Duke Naymes said, "Be not so hot, my lord King. Send a message to
the Duke by some prudent man, and when you shall have received his
answer, then take counsel what you shall do."
"That is good counsel," said the King. But when he called for a
messenger, no man answered, for many were of the Duke's kindred.
Then he called his eldest son Lothair, and said to him, "Go to this
Duke, and bid him come to me with his men-at-arms by mid-summer next,
or else I will besiege his city of Aygremont."
The next day Lothair departed, having a hundred knights with him,
armed for battle. As they went they uttered many threatenings
against the Duke, if he should not submit himself to the King.
It so chanced that a spy heard them talk in this fashion, and, making
all haste, came to the Duke and told him. "There come messengers,"
he said, "from King Charles, threatening terrible things, and the
King's own son is with them." Then the Duke asked his lords what he
should do. One of them, Sir Simon by name, a good man and a wise,
said to him, "Receive the King's messengers honourably. It is not
well for a man, how great soever he be, to fight against his
sovereign lord. Many of your kinsmen have so dared, yet do not you."
Said the Duke, "I am not fallen so low that I should follow such
counsel. Have I not three brothers, princes all of them, that will
help me against the King, and four nephews also, sons of Aymon, that
are stout and valiant men?" So he would not listen to Sir Simon; no,
nor yet to his wife the Duchess, though she was urgent with him to
speak peaceably to the King's messengers.
By this time Lothair and his knights were come to the town of
Aygremont. The Prince said, "See what a fortress is there! How
strong are the walls! See, too, the river running at their base.
There is no stronger place in Christendom. It cannot be taken by
force, but haply by famishing it may be taken." One of his knights
said to him, "My lord, you say true. This is a mighty prince, and he
has a strong castle. It would be well if you could make him to be of
good accord with your father." "You speak well," answered Lothair,
"nevertheless if the Duke shall say anything that shall displease us,
he shall be sorry therefor." But the knight said softly to himself,
"This is foolishness, and we shall pay for it with our lives."
So Lothair and his men came to the castle, and knocked at the gate.
"Who are you?" said the porter. "We be friends," answered Lothair,
"and we bring a message from the King." "Wait awhile," said the
porter, "till I tell the Duke." So the porter went to the Duke and
said, "There are come hither a hundred knights, with the King's
eldest son at their head. Shall I open the gate?" "Open it," said
the Duke, "we can hold our own, yea though the King himself should
come with all his men." So the porter hasted to open the gate. But
the Duke said to his lords, "Here comes the King's eldest son; if he
speak wisely to us, wisely will we answer him; but if not, he shall
not go free."
Then Lothair and his knights were brought into the hall, where the
Duke sat among his lords, having the Duchess his wife by him and
before him his son Mawgis. Now Mawgis was a great wizard.
Lothair said, "God keep King Charles and confound Duke Benes! My
father says, 'Come to Paris with five hundred knights, and make good
your want of service in the parts of Lombardy, where, for lack of
your help, many valiant men came by their death. But if you fail in
this thing, you shall surely be hanged, your wife burned with fire,
and all your house destroyed.'"
Then might any one have seen the Duke change colour for anger. When
he could speak, he said, "I will not go to the King. I hold of him
neither land nor fortress; or rather I will go and waste his land
till I come to Paris itself."
"Dare you so speak?" cried Prince Lothair, in a loud voice. "You
know well that you are the King's man. I counsel you to do his
bidding. Else you shall be hanged till the winds of heaven dry your
bones."
When the Duke heard this he stood up on his feet in a great rage,
crying to Lothair that it was an evil day for him on which he came to
the town of Aygremont. Not a word of counsel would he take, when
some of his knights would put him in mind of the King's might, and of
how he was in truth the King's man, holding of him this very town of
Aygremont. "Hold your peace!" he cried. "Never will I consent to
hold aught of this man so long as I can mount a horse or hold a
spear." And he called upon his lords to lay hold on Lothair, and
they durst not disobey him, but ran upon Lothair and the rest of King
Charles's men. Then began as sore a battle as was ever fought in
this world. For not only did the Duke's men that were within the
palace assail the Frenchmen, but the inhabitants of the town, both
merchants and craftsmen, hearing the uproar, beset the gates. These
gates, indeed, the Frenchmen kept with great courage; but they were
few in number, and the day went sorely against them. In the end,
after that Prince Lothair had been slain by the Duke himself, there
remained but ten of the hundred knights alive. These the Duke
spared, on this condition, that they should carry his message to the
King, and the message was this: "I will do no homage for my land, nor
pay one penny of tribute. Rather I will come with forty thousand
men, and waste your land, and burn your fair city of Paris." After
this he delivered to them the body of Lothair, laying it in a cart
drawn by two horses. And when the ten knights were quit of the town,
and were come into the fields, they began to weep and lament, not for
Lothair only, but also for themselves, for they feared the King. So
they went on their way to Paris.
Meanwhile King Charles at Paris was not a little troubled. "I fear
me much," he said to his lords, "lest some evil have befallen my son,
for this Duke Benes is a savage man and a cruel." Then answered the
Duke Aymon, "If the Duke shall do you any wrong, I will help you with
all my heart. Here also are my four sons who will go with me."
"That is well spoken," said the King. "Bring your sons hither." So
the Duke brought them, and the King, when he saw them, loved them
all, but Reynaud, who was the eldest, more than the other three. He
said to his steward, "Bring hither the arms of King Certes, whom I
slew at Pampeluna, and put them on him." And Ogier the Dane bound on
his spurs, and the King himself girded him with his sword. This
done, he dubbed him knight, saying, "God increase thee in goodness,
honour, and worthiness!"
Reynaud, it should be known, had a very noble horse, Bayard by name,
that had been given him by his cousin Mawgis. Never was there such a
horse in the world, save only Bucephalus, that was the horse of
Alexander of Macedon. When he was mounted on him he seemed such a
knight as could scarce be matched in France or any other land. When
they jousted in the lists, for the King held a tournament at St.
Victor that was near to Paris, not one did so well as Reynaud.
The tournament being ended, the King returned to his palace in Paris.
The next morning he said to his lords, Ogier the Dane, and the Duke
Naymes and Turpin the Archbishop, "I am in fear for my son Lothair;
he tarries long on this journey. I dreamed also last night that the
Duke Benes had slain him." The Duke Naymes said, "Put no trust in
dreams, for they are naught." The King answered, "Nevertheless, if
the Duke have done this thing, he shall die."
While they were yet speaking, there came a messenger upon a horse,
faint and weary and sorely wounded, and the King saw him pass the
window where he stood. Then the King ran lightly down to the gate,
his lords following him. When the messenger saw the King he saluted
him in a low voice, and told him all that had befallen. And when he
had ended his words, he fell to the ground in a swoon for grief and
the pain of his wounds.
Great was the King's sorrow. He wrung his hands and tore his beard
and his hair. His lords sought to comfort him, and Duke Naymes said,
"Now bury your son with great honour at St. Germaine's, and when you
have done this, gather together your army, and march against this
Duke Benes."
Then the King and his lords rode forth from Paris, and when they had
gone the space of two miles, they met the cart wherein was the body
of Prince Lothair. And when the King saw the cart, he lighted down
from his horse, and lifted the cloth that was upon the dead man. And
when he saw how the head was severed from the body and the face sore
disfigured with wounds he cried aloud. And he said, "Oh, Lothair, my
son, you were a fair and gentle knight. May God of His mercy receive
you into Paradise!" Then his lords bore him up on one side and the
other, and brought him to St. Germaine's. There they buried Prince
Lothair with all honour.
CHAPTER II
HOW THE DUKE BENES CAME BY HIS END
Duke Aymon said to his sons, "We do ill to tarry here. The King is
very wroth and not without cause, with your uncle Duke Benes, and
will wage war against him, in which matter he will of a certainty ask
your help. But we cannot fight against our own kinsfolk. Let us
therefore depart to our own country."
So the Duke and his four sons departed, and came to the land of
Ardennes. The Duchess was right glad to see them. Nevertheless,
when she was aware of the reason of their coming she was greatly
troubled. To the Duke Aymon she said, "My lord, you have done ill to
leave the King without license given, for he is your natural lord,
and you have received much good at his hands. You have brought away
your sons also, whom he has of his goodness promoted to the order of
knighthood. This was not well." "Lady," said the Duke, "we left the
King because my brother Benes had slain the Prince Lothair, and we
are afraid." "For all that," answered the Duchess, "do you serve the
King and obey him, for to do so becomes a true man." Then said the
Duke, "I would lose my castle and the half of my land, if only my
brother Benes had not slain the Prince Lothair."
In the meanwhile the King was greatly troubled, not only by the death
of his son, but also by the departure of Duke Aymon and his sons.
"See," said he, "how these men whom I promoted to great honour have
betrayed me. Verily, if I lay hands on them they shall die. But
first I must punish this villain Duke Benes. I will make war on him
this very summer. In the meanwhile they that desire so to do may go
to their own homes, but let all be here on Midsummer Day."
Tidings of these things came to the Duke Benes, and he sent to his
brethren, Gerard and Bron, that they should come to his help. These
came with many men, so that the Duke had now a very great army. So,
having great confidence in his strength, he set out for Troyes in the
region of Champagne.
Meanwhile, there came to the King at Paris Duke Richard of Normandy,
with thirty thousand men, and also the Earl Guy of Heron, and the
Duke of Brittany; also many other lords and knights from Gascony,
Burgundy, Flanders, and other parts. These all pitched their tents
in the meadows of St. Germain.
When all things had been prepared, the King and his army set out, his
purpose being to besiege the town of Aygremont. When they had
marched many days, there came to Ogier the Dane, who led the van of
the army, a messenger riding in hot haste. He asked, "Whose is this
army?" When they told him it was the army of King Charles, he said,
"I would fain speak with the King." So they brought him to the King,
and he delivered his message, which was from Aubrey, lord of Troyes,
and to this effect; that Duke Benes and his two brothers had come up
against the town of Troyes with a very great host, and would most
certainly take it unless the King should come to his help. When the
King heard this he commanded that the army should leave marching to
Aygremont, and should turn aside to Troyes. And this was done, and
in no long time the King and his army came to a place from which they
could see the town of Troyes.
When Gerard of Roussillon, that was brother to Duke Benes, heard that
the King was now near at hand, he said to the Duke, "Let us go
without delay against the King." This saying pleased the others, and
they rode till they saw the King's army. And Gerard rode forth
before his men, crying, "Roussillon! Roussillon!" On the other
hand, Ogier the Dane rode out from the King's army, his spear in
rest, and smote a knight, Ponson by name, so that he fell dead upon
the earth. Meanwhile Gerard slew one of Ogier's knights. So the
battle waxed fiercer and fiercer. Duke Benes, charging at his
horse's utmost speed, overthrew the Lord of St. Quintin. On the
other side, Duke Richard of Normandy did many valiant deeds, slaying,
among others, a certain knight that was Gerard's nearest friend. "I
shall have no peace," said Gerard, "till I have avenged my friend,"
and he put his spear in rest and would have charged at Duke Richard.
But his brother Bron said to him, "Have a care; here comes King
Charles with all his men; if we abide his coming in this place it
will go ill with us." While he was speaking a certain knight in the
company of Duke Richard slew Gerard's nephew before his face. Then
Gerard sent a message to Duke Benes that he was in a great strait,
and must have help forthwith.
When the Duke Benes heard this, he made haste to come, bringing a
great company with him, and the battle grew yet more fierce. After a
while Duke Richard of Normandy rode at Duke Benes, piercing his
shield with his spear, and bruising him sorely on the body. Also
drawing his sword he smote the Duke's horse so stoutly that it fell
dead. But the Duke himself sprang lightly from the ground, and
fought right valiantly on foot, slaying sundry of those who thought
to take him alive. And anon his men brought to him another horse.
And still the battle grew fiercer and fiercer.
Then came King Charles himself, his spear in rest, and smote Gerard
on the shield so strongly that he overthrew both man and horse. Then
had Gerard perished but for his two brothers Benes and Bron, who with
no small trouble drew him out of the press. This indeed they did,
but the battle went against the men of Aygremont. Right glad were
they when the sun set, and this was about Compline time,[1] for the
days were now long.
[1] Compline was the last of the services of the day. Vespers would
correspond to our Evening Service, though a little earlier, as at 6
p.m. Compline came at some varying interval after.
When Duke Benes and his brothers came together after the battle they
had much debate as to what should be done. Gerard counselled that
they should renew the battle on the morrow, but the others deemed
otherwise. "Nay," said the Duke Bron, "we shall fare ill if we do
this. My counsel is this: let us choose thirty knights, the most
prudent that we can find. Let them say on our behalf to King Charles
that we beg him to have mercy upon us, that the Duke Benes shall make
such amends for the slaying of Prince Lothair as may be agreed by the
lords of the two countries, and that hereafter we will be his true
liegemen." To this counsel the others agreed. Forthwith they sought
out the thirty knights, the most prudent men that they could find.
These, when it was day, they sent as an embassage of peace to King
Charles. And Gerard gave them this counsel that before they sought
audience of the King they should seek out the Duke Naymes, and
beseech him to plead their cause with the King, "for the Duke," said
he, "is a lover of peace."
In due time the thirty knights, bearing despatches in their hands,
were brought into the presence of the King, and delivered their
message to him. When King Charles heard these words he looked at the
men frowningly, and in great wrath. Then he said to him that was
their chief and spokesman, a certain Sir Stephen, "Surely, Sir
Stephen, your Duke had lost his wits when he slew my dear son
Lothair. And now, when he says that he will be my man, does he speak
the truth? What say you?" "I will answer for him," said Sir
Stephen. Then King Charles went with his lords into a chamber apart,
and took counsel with them what should be done. Then the Duke Naymes
said, "My advice is that you pardon them. They are valiant men, and
you had better have them for friends than for enemies."
Then King Charles called the thirty knights, and said to them, "I
pardon Duke Benes and his brothers. Only I will that he come to me
at the Feast of St. John next ensuing, with ten thousand men well
equipped for war."
When the messengers brought back this answer the brothers greatly
rejoiced. Duke Gerard said, "It is meet that we should ourselves go
and thank the King." So they put off their fine array, and went,
having but a single garment apiece, and with bare feet, and four
thousand knights went with them in the same plight. When they came
before the King he spoke to them in peaceable words, but he had anger
in his heart, especially against Duke Benes, as will be seen
hereafter.
Some seven days before the Feast of St. John Baptist the Duke Benes
set out from Aygremont that he might present himself according to his
promise before King Charles. Meanwhile the King was holding his
court in Paris. To him came one Guenes, who was his nephew, saying,
"Sire, Duke Benes is on his way hither with a company of knights.
Now is the time to take vengeance on him for the murder of Prince
Lothair." "That were treachery," answered the King, "for we have
given our word to him. The Duke also is a great man and has powerful
kinsmen." "I heed not that," said Guenes, "I have kinsmen also that
are as good as he." "Certainly it were treachery," said the King
again; "but do as you will, only mark that I do not consent thereto."
So Guenes departed, having four thousand men with him, and met the
Duke and his company in the Valley of Soissons. So soon as the Duke
saw him, he was aware of his evil purpose. "I held that the King was
a true man, but now I see that he practises treachery against me.
Now would that I had with me Mawgis my son, and the four sons of my
brother Aymon. I shall have great need of them this day." And in
this indeed he spake truly, for there was a great battle. The Duke
and his knights did valiantly, but what could their valour avail
against so great a multitude? First, the Duke's horse was killed,
and when he rose to his feet, Guenes, being mounted on a very swift
charger, made at him, and ran him through with a spear, so that he
fell dead upon the plain. When the Duke was dead there was a great
slaughter of his knights. Ten only were left alive, and these were
spared upon this condition, that they should take the body of the
Duke to his town of Aygremont, even as the body of Prince Lothair had
been taken by ten of his knights to the town of Paris. Great was the
grief in the town of Aygremont when the body of the Duke was taken
thither. But Mawgis said to the Duchess his mother, "Have patience
awhile, my dear mother. The King shall pay dearly for this his
treachery. And in this I know that my kinsfolk will help me."
CHAPTER III
HOW IT FARED WITH THE BRETHREN
At Pentecost King Charles held a court at Paris to which with others
came Duke Aymon and his sons. Said the King to Aymon, "You and your
sons are very dear to me. Therefore I am minded to make Reynaud my
steward." "I thank you," answered the Duke; "yet this I will say
that you did a grievous wrong in that you suffered my brother Benes
to be slain, when he had a safe-conduct under your hand.
Nevertheless I forgive you." "Remember," said the King, "that Benes
slew my son Lothair. Let us set one deed against the other, and
speak of them no more." "So be it," answered the Duke. But his sons
were not so minded, for they came forth out of the company, and
Reynaud spake for them, "Sire," he said, "we are not of our father's
mind, for we hate you with a great hatred." The King, being very
angry, cried, "Away out of my sight, foolish boy; were it not for
this company I would set you so fast in prison that you should not
move hand or foot."
After these things the whole company went to the Church to hear mass;
and after mass they sat down to dinner, but Reynaud would not sit
down, so angry was he. After dinner, Berthelot, that was nephew to
the King, said to Reynaud, "Come here, play me at chess." So these
two sat down to play. When they had played awhile, there arose a
dispute between them. So hot was the dispute that Berthelot called
Reynaud by an ill name, and smote him on the face, whereupon Reynaud,
lifting the chess board, that was of massy gold, smote Berthelot upon
the head so strongly that he fell down dead. When the King knew this
he cried in great wrath, "Lay hold on this Reynaud. By St. Denis he
shall not go out of this place alive." Then the King's knights would
have laid hold on him, but his brothers and kinsfolk defended him,
and there was such a strife in the palace as had never before been
seen. In the end Reynaud and his brothers, with Mawgis their cousin,
escaped out of the palace, and mounting their horses fled to
Dordogne, the King's knights following hard upon them. As for
Reynaud he was in no peril, for his horse Bayard was as swift as the
wind, but with the others it went hard. Then Reynaud turned upon the
knights that pursued and slaying four of them, gave their horses to
the others. So they came safe all of them to Dordogne, where dwelt
their mother the Duchess. She, fearing greatly for their lives,
would have them take all her treasure, and depart. So they departed,
with many tears, and coming into the forest of Ardennes built for
themselves a castle which they called Montanford. A great fortress
was it and a strong, for it was built upon a rock and defended on all
sides with great walls, and furnished with a great store of
provisions.
When the King heard of what they had done, he required of his barons
that they should help him to take vengeance for his nephew Berthelot.
This they promised to do. "Only," said they, "let us go to our own
land that we may make ready." To this the King consented. So they
departed and came back to Paris in due time with their men. After
this the King departed and marched as quickly as he might to the
castle of Montanford.
Now it chanced that Reynaud's three brothers were returning from the
hunt when they saw the King's host. "Who are these?" said Guichard.
Richard, who was the youngest of the brethren, answered, "This is the
King's host, for I heard it said that he was coming to take vengeance
upon us. But now let us show ourselves to be men." So they and
their companions rode to meet the vanguard of the King's army. And
Guichard laid his spear in rest, and charged at the Earl Guyon, who
was leader of the vanguard, and smote him so strongly that he fell
dead to the ground. Thereafter there was a fierce battle, and it
went hard with the King's vanguard, so that scarce one of them
escaped. But the three brothers got back safe into the tower, and
were greatly commended by Reynaud for their valour. And now the King
besieged the castle. "I will take it," he said, "by force or by
famine." But the Duke Naymes counselled him to demand Guichard of
his brother. "If Reynaud yield him up," said he, "then this matter
shall be settled peaceably and without loss." "That is good
counsel," said the King, and he sent the Duke Naymes with Ogier the
Dane to make their demands. But when Reynaud heard it, he was full
of anger, and said, "My lords, but that I love you, surely I had cut
you to pieces for bringing so evil a message. Think you that I will
do so base a thing as to yield up my own brother? Tell the King that
I care not a penny for his threatenings; as for you, get you away out
of my sight." So the two peers departed with all speed, and told the
words of Reynaud to the King.
Then the King set guards at each of the three gates of the castle,
and the commander of the guards at the third gate was the Duke Aymon
himself, for, of his loyalty to the King, he made war against his own
sons.
When Reynaud saw the guards that the King had set at the gates, he
said to his men, "These men are worn and weary with travel, and it
were but small glory to overcome them now. But when they are
somewhat rested, then we will set upon them." And when the men heard
him so speak, they judged that he was a very gallant, noble knight.
After a while, Reynaud said, "The time is come, else the King will
think that we fear him. Sound the trumpet, and we will let him see
what manner of men we are." So the trumpet was sounded, and Reynaud
and his men issued from the castle gate, and the King's men on the
other hand made themselves ready for the fight, and there was a very
terrible battle. Reynaud and his men suffered much that day, for
first the Duke Aymon wrought great damage to his sons' army, and then
the Duke Fulk slew many, and the defenders of the castle had much ado
to hold their own. Nevertheless they did so valiantly that at the
last the King was fain to withdraw his men. Nor did he do this
without great damage, for Reynaud came upon the army as it retreated,
and slew many, and took certain prisoners. This done, the four
brothers went back to their castle at Montanford.
But it passed the skill of man to hold the place against such odds as
were brought against them. For the King, having gathered together a
great multitude of men, surrounded the castle on all sides, and kept
it close for a year and more. Then Reynaud sent a messenger to the
King, saying, "I will surrender this fortress and myself also with my
brothers, if the King will promise on his part that we shall have our
lives and goods." But the King, moved by certain of his counsellors,
would promise no such thing. And so for a while the matter stood;
neither could the King win the castle, nor could the brethren go free.
After a while there came to King Charles a certain knight, Herneger
by name, who said, "Sire, if you will give me this castle of
Montanford for my own, and all the goods that are within, and the
land about it for five miles, I will deliver to you Reynaud and his
brothers within the space of a month from now." "Do this," answered
the King, "and you shall have what you ask."
Then Herneger, after he had first disposed a thousand knights in the
mountains round about, rode up to the castle gates and said, "I pray
you to let me enter, for the King seeks my life. I have something to
tell Sir Reynaud that he will be right glad to hear." So the porter
opened the gate, and let Sir Herneger pass within.
When Reynaud heard that there was a strange knight in the castle, he
came and inquired of his business. Herneger said, "The King seeks my
life, because I spake on your behalf." "How does the King fare?"
said Reynaud. "Has he good store of victuals?" Herneger answered,
"He and his army are well-nigh famished. They will not tarry long in
this place, and when they depart you may get much spoil by pursuing
them." "That is good to hear," answered Reynaud. "If the King fail
of his purpose this time, the opportunity will not soon come again."
Then he and his brethren and Herneger the traitor sat down to supper
and made good cheer.
When all the knights were fast asleep, the false Herneger rose from
his bed and armed himself. Then he cut the cords of the drawbridge,
and let it fall, and he slew also the guards that kept watch on the
wall. When he had done this, the knights who were disposed upon the
mountains came up, being led by Guy of Burgundy, and, finding the
gates open, entered in and slew all that they could find. Truly it
had gone ill with the four brethren that night but for the horse of
Alard that woke them out of their sleep. For some of the guards had
been slain, and some who should have watched were drunken, and the
brethren had been surprised but for the loud neighing of the horse.
When Reynaud saw that the enemy was within the castle, he and his
brethren took their places in the tower, and, when the tower was set
on fire, they took their stand in a certain pit and defended it right
valiantly against all the King's men. After awhile, the other
knights that were in the castle taking heart and coming to help them,
they drove out the enemy from the castle, and shut the gates and
raised the drawbridge. The next day Reynaud said to his brothers,
"So far we have done well, and have been delivered beyond all hope.
Nevertheless here we may not stay, for all our provision of food has
been burnt by fire. Let us depart, therefore, while we can." So
they left the castle not without much sorrow. Alard and Guichard
were in the vanguard with a hundred knights, and Reynaud and Richard
brought up the rear with all the rest of their folk.
That night they passed through the army of the King without hurt or
hindrance. But for many days to come they had no rest from their
enemies, nor of all that pursued them was there one that did them
more damage than did Aymon their father. At last things came to this
pass that there was no one left alive of all their followers. Their
horses also were in a sore plight, for they had nothing to eat save
only such roots as they could find in the ground. Nevertheless the
horse Bayard was plump and strong, while the others were so lean and
weak that they could scarce stand. A wonderful beast was he in this
as in other things, being as well nourished by roots as other horses
are wont to be by hay and corn. As for the knights they were ill to
see, for their armour was eaten away with rust and their skins dark
with hunger and want.
Then said Reynaud to his brothers, "What shall we do? As for myself
I had sooner die as becomes a knight than perish here of hunger and
cold." Alard said, "My counsel is that we go straight to our lady
mother in Ardennes. For though the King and his lords hate us, and
even our father is set against us, yet I am persuaded that our mother
will not fail us." "You give good counsel," said Reynaud; and to
this the other two agreed.
That night the brethren set out, and travelling without stay came to
the city of Ardennes. When they were in sight of the walls, Reynaud
said to his brethren, "We did ill to take no surety of our father,
that he give us not into the King's hands." "Fear not," answered
Richard. "I am assured that our lady mother will keep us safe." So
they entered the town. But no man knew them, so strange were they to
look upon, and the townsfolk asked them, "Of what country are you?"
"You are too curious," answered Reynaud, and they rode to the palace.
Now the Duke Aymon chanced to be hawking that day by the river, and
the Duchess was in her chamber, where she was wont to sit, in much
grief because she had no tidings of her children. After a while she
came from her chamber into the hall, where the men sat, but she knew
them not. Nay so black were they and foul to look upon that she was
in no small fear of them, and was minded for a while to go back to
her chamber. But soon she took courage, and greeted the men, saying,
"Who are you, Christian men or pagans? Maybe you are doing some
penance. Will you have some alms from me or clothing? methinks you
need them much. Gladly will I do you this service that God also may
have mercy upon my own children." And when she thought of her sons,
and how she knew not whether they were alive or dead, she wept aloud.
When Reynaud heard her weep, he was himself greatly moved, and wept
also. And the Duchess looking on him more closely was not a little
troubled, so that she had almost fallen to the ground in a swoon.
But when she came to herself she looked again and lo! there was a
scar on his face that he had from a fall when he was a child. So she
knew him again, and cried, "O my son Reynaud, how comes it that you
are so greatly changed, you that were the fairest knight in all the
world?" Then she looked about her, and knew her other sons also, and
took them one by one in her arms, both rejoicing and lamenting. So
she wept and they wept also.
And now came a yeoman to say that the dinner was served. So the
Duchess and her sons went to the table, and sat down and made good
cheer.
As they sat, the Duke came in from his hawking, and said "Who are
these men that are so strange to look upon?" "These are your
children and mine," answered the Duchess. "See what they have
suffered, living in the woods. I beseech you deal kindly with them."
But the Duke hardened his heart against his sons, because he would be
true to King Charles. And there was much dispute between them, so
that Reynaud had once half drawn his sword from its sheath. Only
Alard stayed him, "Set not your hand against him, for that is against
God's commandment." In the end peace was made between father and
sons in this fashion. Aymon said, "I cannot abide in the house with
these men, for that were against my oath to King Charles. But you,
my wife, have much gold and silver, and horses and harness and
armour. Give to your sons so much as they will take." Having said
this, he departed from the house and his knights went with him.
Then the Duchess called her sons to her. First she commanded that
they should make baths ready for them. And when they had bathed, she
gave them rich apparel of all that they needed. This done she showed
them the Duke Aymon's treasure and bade them take of it as much as
they needed. Nor did they fail so to do. For Reynaud made such
provision of men and arms that he gathered together a great company
of soldiers.
The next day, just as they were about to depart, came Mawgis their
cousin, telling of how he had taken three horses of the King, laden
with gold and silver. "And of this treasure," said he to Reynaud his
cousin. "I am ready to give you the half."
So they departed together, and the Duke Aymon met them as they went,
and gave them his blessing, and "See," said he to the three, "that
you obey your brother Reynaud, for he is good at counsel." To the
Duchess, when she was nigh distracted at the departure of her
children, he said, "Be not troubled over much; we shall see them come
again in great prosperity and honour."
CHAPTER IV
THE COMING OF ROLAND
Reynaud and his brothers, with Mawgis their cousin, came in their
riding to Poictiers, where it was told them that John, King of
Gascony was hard pressed by the Saracens. Reynaud said to his
comrades, "Let us go to the help of the King." To this they
consented, and so coming to the city of Bordeaux were joyfully
received by the King and his courtiers.
Not many days after, the King of the Saracens came to Bordeaux, and
Reynaud and his comrades went forth from the city to attack him.
Then followed a great battle, and the Saracens fled, whom Reynaud
pursued so hotly that all his friends counted him to have been slain.
Great, therefore, was their joy when Reynaud came back, not only safe
and sound, but bringing with him the King of the Saracens, as
prisoner, for he had taken him in single combat. Thereupon, King
John, holding that he could not honour too greatly so valiant a
knight, yielded to him a fair hill whereon was a castle, and gave him
also his sister in marriage. This castle Reynaud made very strong
with towers and the like, and called it Montalban; and for a while
the brothers had peace.
It befell that King Charles, going on a pilgrimage, saw this same
hill with the castle built upon it, and much admiring, would know who
dwelt there. When he heard that it was the castle of the sons of
Aymon, he was very wroth, and sent an embassy, of which Ogier the
Dane was the leader, to King John, demanding that the brothers and
their company should be delivered to him. "I will do no such thing,"
said the King. Thereupon King Charles said to his barons, "You see
how this man defies us. Come now, we will go to Paris, and hold a
council of the whole realm, and consider how we shall deal with him."
When the Council was assembled, the King stood up, and set the matter
before them. Then the Duke Naymes spake in this fashion; "Sir, we
are wrong in this war; let us have peace for five years; after that,
if you are so minded, we will fight again." This counsel angered the
King greatly, but while he doubted what he should say, there came to
the palace a young man, very fair, and well arrayed, with thirty
squires following him, and did obeisance to the King. "Tell me your
name," said Charles. "Sire," answered the stranger, "my name is
Roland, and I am your nephew, being son of your sister that is
married to the Duke of Milan." "You are welcome," said the King.
"To-morrow I will make you a knight and you shall make war upon these
traitors, the sons of Aymon." "That I will do right willingly,"
answered Roland, "seeing that Reynaud slew my cousin, Berthelot."
On the morrow the King made Roland a knight. But while they sat at
the feast, there came a messenger saying that the city of Cologne was
beset of Saracens. Said Roland to the King, "Let me go against these
infidels," and the King answered, "You shall go." So Roland went
with twenty thousand men well armed and fell upon the Saracens, and
took from them spoils and prisoners, and overcame their King in
single combat, bringing him back to Paris and delivering him to the
King.
The King said to Duke Naymes, "How did Roland, my nephew, bear
himself in the battle?" "Never did knight bear himself better,"
answered the Duke, "only he needs a horse that should carry him well
when he is fully armed. I counsel you, therefore, to make a
proclamation that there shall be a race of all the best horses in
your realm, and that you will give to the horse that shall prevail
your crown of gold, and five hundred marks of fine silver, and a
hundred rolls of silk." "This is good counsel," said the King, and
he caused proclamation to be made, and the lists to be set up.
Now it chanced that a yeoman of Gascony, being in Paris, heard the
proclamation, and going back to his own country told the matter to
Reynaud and Mawgis. When Reynaud heard it, he laughed and said: "Now
shall the King see as good a race as ever was run in the world, for I
will go to Paris with Bayard and win this prize." "I will go with
you," said Mawgis, "and your brethren also, and we will have with us
some knights well armed."
So Reynaud and his company set out, and when any one would know who
they were, they said that they were from Bearn, and that they were
journeying to Paris to run their horses in the King's race. When
they were now near to Paris, Mawgis, being a great magician, took a
certain herb that he knew, and when he had pounded it with the pommel
of his sword, and tempered it with water, he rubbed Bayard therewith,
so that he became all white. And he took another herb that he knew
and therewith caused Reynaud to look like a youth of twenty years.
When the others saw Reynaud and his horse, how changed they were,
they laughed aloud. Then Reynaud and Mawgis parted from them, and
went on alone to Paris with Bayard the horse.
Meanwhile, the King had sent the Duke Naymes, and Ogier the Dane, and
another, with a hundred knights to keep the road from Orleans, that
none might pass without their knowledge. There they abode, not a few
days, suffering much from hunger and thirst. "What do we here?" said
Duke Naymes. "Does the King hold us to be fools that he makes us
tarry here for nothing?" "You say well," said Ogier the Dane, "let
us go back." But even as he spake, they were aware of two men on
horseback. Said the Duke, "That horse is Bayard, but that he is of
another colour." When the men were near, the Duke said to them, "Who
are you?" Mawgis answered, "My name is Sousser, and I come from
Peron, and this is my son, but he speaks no French." The Duke said
to Reynaud, "Man, know you anything of Reynaud, the son of Aymon?"
Reynaud answered him with strange words that no man could understand.
"What devil taught thee to speak such strange French? Maybe 'tis
Latin, but thou art more like to a fool than to a bishop." And he
suffered the two to pass in peace.
When they came to Paris some ill fellow saw them, and cried in a loud
voice, "This is Reynaud, son of Aymon," at which saying many ran
together. Thereupon the villain, growing bold, caught Bayard by the
bridle. But the horse smote the man on the breast with his fore
foot, and killed him.
Then the two rode on, and took a lodging in an inn; where when they
bedded their horses, Mawgis took a thread of silk and waxed it well
and after bound the fore feet of Bayard. Said the host, "Why do you
this? The horse can run but ill being so bound. But tell me who is
the knight; had he more years he were like Reynaud the son of Aymon."
Mawgis answered, "I bound the horse's feet because he is given to
fighting. As for his rider he is my son." But it chanced that, not
long after, Mawgis named Reynaud by name, and the host heard it and
said, "This beyond all doubt is Reynaud who slew the King's nephew.
Truly, before I sleep, I will tell the matter to the King." Reynaud
heard the man speak and straightway slew him. Thereat there was no
small outcry, but the two knights mounted on their horses, and
mingling with the crowd, so escaped.
After mass the King and his lords went down to a certain meadow that
is by the river Seine, where the race should be run. And the two
knights went with him, but Bayard having his foot bound halted much.
Then said one knight, "See here the horse that will win the prize,"
and another said, "Verily, he will win, if God so favour him." And
they laughed him to scorn.
When the trumpets sounded for the starting of the horses they all
ran. When Mawgis saw this, he lighted from his horse and cut the
thread of silk that was bound about Bayard's foot. And Reynaud
spurred his horse, saying to him, "Bayard, we are far behind, now it
is time for you to haste." When Bayard heard his master so speak, he
understood him as well as though he had been a man. Straightway he
held up his head, and stretched forth his neck, and ran so fast that
he speedily passed all the other horses. When the King saw this he
said to Richard of Normandy, "This white horse is marvellously swift,
and he is like to Bayard, the horse of Reynaud, son of Aymon."
Reynaud, having prevailed in the race, took the crown of gold, but
the silver and the silk he disdained. Then having the crown in his
hand, he rode back to the palace where the King sat with his lords.
The King said to him, "I will give you for your horse such treasure
as will content you." Reynaud answered: "Sire, I have angered you
many times, and slain your men, and now I carry away your crown.
Know that I am Reynaud, son of Aymon. Seek elsewhere for a horse
that you may give to Roland your nephew. But Bayard you shall not
have." So saying he spurred his horse, and rode away, and when he
had travelled certain miles, then came Mawgis on his black horse. So
these two returned to the castle of Montalban, and were received with
great joy.
CHAPTER V
OF THE TREACHERY OF KING JOHN
King Charles said to his knights and barons, "See now how this
villain Reynaud has deceived me, and carried away my crown. Devise
some means by which I may recover that which I have lost." "You must
besiege," said the Duke Naymes, "his castle of Montalban." So the
King gathered together a great army, so great indeed that provisions
failed them. After Easter he set out from Paris, and in due time
came to Reynaud's castle, Montalban.
The King had made Roland captain of his host. When Roland therefore
saw the castle, he being even overbold, said to the King, "Let us
assault this place without delay." But the King answered, "Not so,
we will first try them, whether they will yield up the place
peaceably." He sent therefore a messenger who should say to Reynaud,
"The King bids you yield up your castle and also your brother
Richard. If you refuse he will take it by force, and hang up both
you and him." Reynaud answered, "I am not one that betrays friends.
But if the King will assure to us our lives and our castle we will
yield ourselves to him." To this the King would not consent.
Therefore he besieged the place meaning to reduce it by famine, for
he perceived that it could not be taken by force.
It fell on a certain day that Roland, seeing that there were many
birds by the river, was minded to go hawking. So he went with Oliver
his comrade (this Oliver was a very noble knight, and a close friend
to Roland) and a company of knights, the bravest of the host. This
was seen by a certain spy, who told it to Reynaud and Mawgis. Mawgis
said, "Cousin, you will do well to attack the King's host, for they
are not thinking of battle." So these two issued forth from the
castle and four thousand knights with them.
Turpin the Archbishop[1] was in charge of the King's host. When he
saw the enemy come forth from the castle, he was not a little
troubled. First he called to Ogier the Dane that he should arm
himself, and afterwards to the other barons and knights that they
should make ready for battle.
[1] The real Turpin was, it would seem, Tilpin, Archbishop of Rheims
from 754 to 794. We do not know that Tilpin was a warrior, but his
predecessor, Milo by name, is said to have been a "warrior clerk,"
and as such to have been put into the archbishopric by Charles Martel.
First Reynaud slew a certain knight of the King's army. When Turpin
the Archbishop saw this he spurred his horse against Reynaud. The
two met with so great force that the spears of both were broken in
pieces; but Reynaud being the quicker to draw his sword dealt the
Archbishop so grievous a blow that both he and his horse were
well-nigh brought to the ground. Then cried Reynaud, "Father, are
you that Turpin that boasts himself so much? By my faith you were
better singing mass in some church than fighting with me." The
Archbishop was much angered at these words, and made at Reynaud with
all his might. But neither he nor Ogier the Dane nor any one of the
King's men could hold their ground that day against the sons of
Aymon. And when Mawgis and his knights came forth from the wood
where they lay in ambush, and assailed the King's host on the flank,
then the Frenchmen fled, not without great loss, especially at the
crossing of the river. The knights from Montalban pursued them for a
mile or so, and Mawgis took the golden dragon that was on Roland's
tent (for Roland had not yet come back from hawking) and set it on
the great tower of Montalban, so that all men might see it. When the
King saw it he said, "Now has Roland taken the fortress of these
villains." But when he knew the truth, he was well-nigh beside
himself with rage.
Meanwhile King John was not a little troubled in mind. For he said
to himself, "How will these things end? These five knights, for all
that they are brave warriors, cannot always prevail against the power
of the King." So he called his barons to a council, and demanded
their advice. One said one thing, and another another, but the
greater part had little love for Reynaud. Of these a certain old man
that was called Earl Antony was the spokesman. He said, "I know this
Reynaud, of how haughty a temper he is. His father had but a single
town, and now he holds himself so high that he disdains to be the
King's man. And now you have nourished his pride, giving him your
sister to wife. And the end will be that he will take your kingdom
from you, and have it for himself. If you would save yourself from
such dishonour, deliver him and his brethren to the King."
When King John saw that this counsel pleased the greater part of his
barons, he was much troubled in mind, and wept for grief and shame.
Nevertheless he called his secretary to him, and said, "Now write to
the King and say that, if he will leave wasting my land, I will
presently deliver to him the sons of Aymon and Mawgis their cousin.
If he will send to Vancouleurs, there he will find them, clothed with
mantles of scarlet trimmed with fur, and riding upon mules." So the
secretary wrote according to these words in a letter, and gave the
letter to a knight that he might take it to King Charles. When the
King had read the letter, he was very glad. And he delivered to the
messenger of the King a letter wherein he had written what it was in
his mind to do, namely, to send Ogier the Dane with a company of
knights who should take the brethren prisoner. Also he sent from his
treasury four mantles of scarlet, trimmed with fur.
When King John had received the letter with the mantles, he commanded
a hundred knights to make themselves ready to ride with him to the
Castle of Montalban. When he was come to the castle his sister came
forth to greet him, but when she would have kissed him, as her custom
was, he turned his face aside, saying, "Pardon me, my sister, I have
an ill tooth that troubles me sore." Not long after the brethren
came back to the castle, and when they heard that the King was there,
they took each his horn and sounded a welcome. When the King heard
the sound, he thought no little shame of himself, yet did not turn
from his purpose. When he saw the brethren, he said to them, "I have
spoken for you to King Charles, and he has promised that if you will
go to the plain of Vancouleurs riding on mules, clad in scarlet
mantles which I will presently give you, with flowers in your hands
and without arms, he will make peace with you. For as soon as you
shall cast yourselves at his feet, he will pardon you and give you
again your lands."
There was not a little debate among the brethren on this matter, for
Reynaud was minded to go, but the others were unwilling. The wife of
Reynaud also was set against the journey, telling him of a terrible
dream that she had dreamed. "I saw," she said, "a thousand wild
boars come out of the forest of Ardennes. These fell upon you, and
rent your body in pieces. I saw how Alard was slain by an arrow by
Frenchmen, and how Richard was hanged on an apple tree." "Hold your
peace," said Reynaud. "He that puts his trust in dreams has but
little faith in God. Think you that your brother will betray us?
Does he not send eight of his chief barons with us for surety." To
his brethren he said, "If you are fearful then will I go alone."
So the four went their way to Vancouleurs, not without fears, for
Reynaud himself doubted to what the matter might grow. Now the plain
of Vancouleurs was a solitary place, where four ways met, with
forests on every side, in which forests, by command of the King, many
hundreds of knights lay in ambush, ready to issue forth and fall upon
the brethren. Of these knights Ogier the Dane was the chief, and was
not a little in doubt how he should bear him, for on the one hand he
was near of kin to the brethren, and on the other he was bound in
duty to perform the command of the King. Sometimes he was inclined
one way, and sometimes another. First he suffered the brethren to
pass unharmed when he might have taken them at a disadvantage in a
narrow road; afterwards, when they were in the plain, he himself led
his knights against them.
When the brethren found that a great treachery had been practised
upon them, they prepared to defend themselves, having first confessed
their sins to each other, for lack of a priest to whom they might
confess. Great deeds did they that day, but not without suffering
many things. First Guichard was taken prisoner by the King's men and
bound upon a horse. Yet Reynaud delivered him from captivity. Then
Richard was grievously wounded by Gerard Lord of Valence, and came
very near to death, but him also Reynaud, than whom there was never
greater fighter in the world, rescued before it was too late. And
indeed it was in Richard's counsel that the brethren found
deliverance. For when he opened his eyes, having before been in a
swoon, and saw Reynaud, he said to him, "See you that rock yonder
that is so high and strong? If we can win thither, we shall be safe
from our enemies, at least for one while. Nor do I doubt that
Mawgis, who knows things that are hidden from other men, knows in
what plight we are, and will bring us help presently."
And Alard lifted Richard from the earth, and laid him upon his
shield, and carried him to the rock, Reynaud and Guichard holding
back meanwhile the King's men with such strength and valour as have
never been surpassed, for they fought as men who have no hope for
their lives, but think only how they may make most havoc among their
enemies. And now again did Ogier the Dane render them good service.
Truly they had scarce won their way to the rock but for this, for
when they were most hardly pressed he drew back his own company the
length of a bowshot. "You can deal with these men without me," said
he to the King's barons. "It were better that I should not meddle
with them any more, seeing that they are my kinsmen." And so
somewhat by favour of Ogier, but chiefly by their own valour, the
brethren won their way to the rock.
Now the rock had four faces. Of these Reynaud kept two, so strong
was he, and Guichard one and Alard one. As for Richard he was so
spent with loss of blood that he lay upon the ground and could render
no help. After a while an evil chance fell upon them, for Guichard
was so sorely wounded in the thigh that he could no longer stand upon
his feet. He cried to Reynaud, "Let us yield ourselves to the King,
seeing that neither Richard nor I can help you any more." "This is
to speak as a coward," answered Reynaud. "I would not yield myself
for all the gold and silver in the world, no nor for Bayard my horse,
though I love him better than all other things. And, indeed, what
were the profit of yielding ourselves? We should of a certainty be
hanged by the King, and it were better to perish here than to die in
so shameful a fashion." When Guichard heard these words he was
greatly troubled in spirit. "You are right, brother," he said. "Cut
me now the half of my shirt into strips and I will bind up my wounds
as best I may, and so make shift to help you against our enemies."
This he did; so these three still held the rock against the King.
Meanwhile Mawgis knew how his kinsmen had been betrayed, and made
haste to succour them. He saddled the horse Bayard, and rode with a
great company of knights as fast as might be to the place where the
brethren were. Great was Reynaud's joy to see him; while he was yet
a long way off he knew him, not so much for himself as for the horse
Bayard on which he rode. Swift as a swallow was Bayard, every stride
was of thirty feet at the least. When Richard heard it, he said to
his brother, "Lift me up in your arms that I may see him." So
Reynaud lifted him up, and when he saw Mawgis and Bayard coming up as
a storm comes he said, "The sight makes me whole again."
Ogier the Dane was glad to see that help had come to his kinsmen.
"See you these men?" he said to the Frenchmen, "we cannot stand
against them; let us retreat." But while he was speaking, Mawgis
came upon him, so swift was the horse Bayard, and defied him.
"Ogier," he said, "you came of true men, but you are yourself
untrue," and he spurred Bayard against him, and smote him on the
breast with his spear so stoutly that he broke both shield and
corslet. What would have been the end no man can say, for Ogier on
his part was not backward, but now the horse Bayard, knowing that his
master was near, carried away Mawgis in his own despite, and came and
knelt before Reynaud. Then Mawgis lighted down from him, and greeted
the brethren most lovingly.
As for Ogier and the Frenchmen, not being minded to stand against the
new-comers, they rode back to the river Dordogne, Reynaud crying out
to his kinsman, "Ho! cousin! have you then left being a soldier and
become a fisherman for eels or salmon?"
When they had crossed over the river the Frenchmen blamed Ogier the
Dane, for that he had favoured the brethren, while Ogier, on his
part, was greatly troubled, knowing that they spake truly, and yet
that the brethren held him in no regard for all that he had done.
These things so wrought upon him that he mounted his horse and swam
back across the river. When he had come to the other bank, Reynaud,
having ridden down to the river on Bayard to meet him, said, "Cousin,
surely we have had enough of fighting; let us be content therewith."
But Ogier answered, "You have blamed me for treachery, and my own
friends say the same thing. I would rather be slain than endure such
reproaches."
Reynaud said, "So be it." And the two charged at each other and met
with so great a shock that both were thrust from their saddles and
fell to the ground. Before they could raise themselves, for both
received no small damage, the two horses, Bayard and the other, fell
to fighting. Then Ogier, knowing that Bayard was the stronger by far
of the two, would have smitten him with his sword. Reynaud, on the
other hand, hindered him. And when Mawgis and the brothers, that is
to say, Alard and Guichard, for Richard was too sorely wounded, saw
this, they made all haste to come. When Ogier perceived them, he had
no choice but to mount on his horse and flee. Then Reynaud cried
after him, "Come back if you will and fetch your saddle," for the
girths had been broken when the two jousted together, "and I will
greet you in such a place that Charlemagne with all his men could not
help you." So Ogier passed over the river once again, and Mawgis
with the brethren went back to the rock where they had left Richard.
CHAPTER VI
OF THE CRAFT OF MAWGIS
When King John of Gascony heard all the trouble that had befallen the
brethren, on the one side, and the Emperor and his knights, on the
other, he could not rest, so much did his conscience trouble him. So
having bidden farewell to his sister Clare, Reynaud's wife, he sought
a certain Abbey, and there took a monk's habit. But a certain man
that was a spy was aware of the matter, and told it to Roland. Also
he said that the brethren and Mawgis were journeying to Montalban.
Then Roland, having first called Oliver, said, "We will go now and
fight with the sons of Aymon, and we will take four thousand men only
with us, so that we shall have no advantage over them, inasmuch as
they have five thousand well horsed and well armed." Said Ogier the
Dane, "I will go with you and see how you fare, and I promise that if
you lay hands on them I will lend you a rope."
Roland first came to the Abbey, and said to the Abbot. "You have
here in a monk's habit a certain John, whom men call King of Gascony.
Deliver him to me that I may hang him as a thief." And when the
Abbot would not consent, Roland entered the cloister, and took King
John by force, the man being known to him, and set him on a horse,
with his face to the tail. The King said to a certain knight whom he
knew, "Go now to Reynaud and say that I am in sore straits." "Sir,"
said the knight, "I doubt whether Reynaud will so much as stir a foot
to help you." Nevertheless he consented to go.
Now Reynaud had come by this time to the castle of Montalban. But
when his wife the Lady Clare came forth to meet him, he would not
suffer her to come near to him. "Go," he said, "to your false
brother John." The children also, for he had two sons, he spurned
away. "I will have none of this evil brood," said he. But when the
Lady Clare swore by all the Saints that she had no knowledge of her
brother's wickedness and fell in a swoon at his feet, and his
brothers also made intercession for her, his heart was softened, and
he consented to receive her again.
As they sat at meat there came the knight from King John. He said,
"King John is in sore straits. Roland has taken him prisoner, and is
stedfastly purposed to hang him. The King knows that he has sinned
grievously against you, nevertheless he prays that you will help
him." Then cried Alard, "If Roland hang that traitor, he will do
well." But Reynaud said nothing.
When he had thought a long while he began to speak, telling all the
story of his life, how he had himself done wrong to others, and how
he had suffered many things, and was bound to show mercy rather than
hardness. "King John," he said, "would have betrayed me, but he did
it for fear of King Charles. It becomes me to help him in his need."
To this the brethren consented, though not willingly. So they set
forth, having six thousand men on horseback, and one thousand on
foot, and before they had gone many hours' journey there came Roland
and Oliver and Ogier the Dane, having King John with them, as has
been said.
When Ogier saw them, he greatly rejoiced. "If one had given me a
thousand marks in gold," he said, "it had not pleased me so well as
that Roland should meet the brethren and Mawgis and learn of what
quality they are." To Roland he said, "See now what you have desired
so long. If you take these men alive the King will give you great
thanks therefor, and you will have Bayard for your own, and the war
will be ended." Roland answered "Ogier, you say not this in
kindness, but I will do my best."
Reynaud, on the other part, when he saw Roland and his company, said
to his brothers, "Stay you behind till you are wanted. I will make
trial of this great Roland." And when they would have kept him back
he said, "I know that he is the strongest knight in all the world.
Nevertheless I will meet him, for mine is the right cause and his the
wrong. Therefore I shall certainly prevail."
When the two armies were now near, Oliver said to Roland, "these men
are too many for us." "Not so," answered Roland, "the Gascons are
but cowards." "Maybe," said Turpin the Archbishop, "but they have a
good leader this day, and a valiant man has ever valiant men to
follow him."
[Illustration: REYNAUD KNEELING TO ROLAND.]
Roland, liking this talk but little, rode forth to meet Reynaud. But
Reynaud, when he was now at the distance to charge, lighted down off
Bayard, and fixing his spear in the earth, tethered his horse, and
running forward knelt before Roland and said to him, "I pray you to
have pity on me, for you are of kin to me. I will give you Bayard my
horse, that is the most precious thing I have, and my lordship of
Montalban, if you can make the King to be at peace with us. Further,
I promise that I will leave France for the rest of my days, and go to
the Holy Land with my brothers and Mawgis, and there make war upon
the Saracens."
Roland was much troubled at these words, and said, "I would that it
might be, but the King will not make peace except you deliver to him
Mawgis." "Mawgis," said Reynaud, "is not one that a man can give or
take. And now seeing that I have humbled myself in vain let us two
settle this matter. There is no need that others should shed their
blood, but we only. If you overcome me then shall you take me to the
King, that he may do with me as he will; but if I, on the other hand,
overcome, then will I take you to Montalban, but you shall suffer no
harm or shame."
To this Roland consented, but his friends would not suffer it to be
so. So the two armies met together in battle, and many were slain on
both sides, but in the end Reynaud and his men prevailed over Roland
and his army. Nevertheless Reynaud suffered this great loss and
damage, that his brother Richard, having assailed Roland, was
overthrown and taken prisoner.
When Reynaud heard these tidings he was greatly troubled, and would
have given himself up to King Charles, if he might so deliver his
brother. But this the others would not suffer. Then said Mawgis,
"Trouble not yourselves about Richard, I will set him free. Do you
go to Montalban." But they doubted how he should do this, and were
in great heaviness.
Meanwhile Mawgis disguised himself in such a fashion that no one
could know him. By eating of a certain herb he made himself much
bigger to see, and with another herb he darkened his face almost to
blackness. Then he put on him the habit of a pilgrim, having a
mantle and hood, and great boots on his feet, and a staff in his
hand. This done, he conveyed himself with more speed than if he had
ridden the swiftest of horses to the King's camp, for he was a
magician, as has been said. This speed he used that he might be
beforehand with Roland.
When he was come to the Camp, he watched till the King came forth
from his tent, and said to him, "God keep you, Sir, from all
treason!" Now the King, having been deceived many times, said, "Who
is this knave? Does he compass some treason?" For a while the false
pilgrim made no answer. But then, as one that takes courage to
speak, he said, "Sir, you may see that I am a poor man that has more
need of health than of compassing treason. I am newly come from
Jerusalem, where I worshipped at the Holy Sepulchre, and now I must
go to Rome and to St. James of Compostella, but I am in great
trouble. Yesterday, as I was passing over the river Gironde with ten
men that I had to guard me, there fell upon me some thieves that slew
all my men and took all that I had. These thieves told me that they
were the four sons of Amyon, and one Mawgis, their cousin. And when
I asked them why they dealt so hardly with me, they answered that
they were in such sore need at their castle of Montalban that they
could not choose but rob all wayfarers. Then they beat me and let me
go. And now, Sire, I pray that you will avenge me of these robbers."
The King answered, "Gladly would I avenge you if I might, but I can
do nothing against these men." And the false pilgrim said, "If I
cannot have help of man, yet surely I shall have it of God." The
King said, "This seems to be a godly man." And he turned to his
lords. "It would be a good deed to give this pilgrim alms." And he
commanded his steward to give him twenty pounds in silver.
When Mawgis received the money, he said to himself, "Surely you shall
have a reward for this." But aloud he said, "I pray you, Sire, to
give me some meat, for since yesterday I have neither eaten nor
drunk." And the King commanded that he should be served with the
very best.
So Mawgis ate and drank; he said nothing, but looked very earnestly
at the King. And Charlemagne said, "Tell me, pilgrim, why you look
so earnestly upon me?" The false pilgrim answered, "Sire, I have
travelled in many lands, but never saw I, whether among Saracens or
Christian men, so godly and courteous a prince. Now, therefore, of
all the pardons that I have I will give you half." "That," answered
the King, "is a fair gift. I take it willingly." So the false
pilgrim gave him his staff to kiss for a token.
And now came Roland with Richard his prisoner. But before he had
audience of the King, the Duke Naymes and other Barons said to him,
"It will be ill done if you deliver Richard to the King. Let him
depart in peace." "That," answered Roland, "I will do right
willingly if I may."
But a certain yeoman that was standing by heard the Barons and Roland
talking together, and told the matter to the King. And he, coming
forth from his tent, when he saw Richard, cried, "Villain, now that I
have you, I will see that you are hanged by the neck," and he smote
him with his staff. Then Richard leapt upon the King, for he had
been unbound, and the two wrestled together and fell to the earth.
But the Barons laid hands upon them and held them apart.
When Mawgis saw how the King had smitten Richard, he had much ado to
keep still. Nevertheless he restrained himself, making a sign to
Richard, and when Richard knew him he was glad, being sure that he
should be delivered by his means.
After this Mawgis departed from the King's camp, and went with all
speed to Montalban. Being come there, he said to the three brethren,
"Richard is yet alive, but he is in great straits. Come and deliver
him while there is yet time." Thereupon they all set out. But when
they were come near to the camp, and had hidden themselves in a wood
that was hard by, it so happened that for weariness they all fell
into a deep sleep. And this thing came near to the undoing of
Richard.
Meanwhile the King called his Barons together. First he said to
Berenger, Lord of Valois, "I will make you quit of all service to me
if you will take this knave Richard and see that he is hanged."
Berenger answered, "You love me little, my lord King, if you make
such a demand of me. I will not do this thing."
Then the King said to another of the Barons, "You hold Bavaria of me,
and are bound to serve me with three thousand men. I will quit you
of this service if you will hang this knave Richard." "I will not
hurt the man," answered the Earl.
Then he turned to Ogier the Dane and said, "Now, if you would prove
me your love, hang this fellow." "Nay," answered Ogier, "I will not,
and, moreover, I hold any man to be my enemy that shall harm Richard."
At the last he said to Turpin the Archbishop, "Hang this Richard, and
I will make you Pope of Rome." "Sire," answered Turpin, "to do so
would be against my priest's duty."
At last the King prevailed with a certain knight, Ripus by name, that
he should do this deed. So this Ripus, having put a halter about
Richard's neck, led him to the gallows which had been set up outside
the wood. And when Richard would have given him gold he would have
none of it. Only he suffered that a priest should shrive him, to
whom indeed Richard confessed more sins than he had committed in his
whole life, so gaining a little time, for he yet looked for help.
And when the shriving was ended, then he begged for time wherein he
might make his prayers, nor could Ripus say him nay.
And now, when he was in the greatest need, did the good horse Bayard
help him, for he, having such wit as never horse had before, seeing
that Reynaud his master was fast asleep, smote with his hoof on his
shield that he woke him, and he, looking up, the gallows being hard
by the wood, saw Richard now beginning to mount the ladder that was
set against the gallows. Then he leapt on Bayard's back, and made
all haste to deliver Richard, Mawgis and Alard and Guichard following
him with all the speed they could use.
As for Ripus and his men, they could make no stand against the
brothers and Mawgis. Many were slain, and the rest were right glad
to fly. Then Reynaud took the bodies of Ripus and fifteen of his
knights that lay dead upon the plain and hanged them on the gallows
that had been set up for Richard.
CHAPTER VII
MORE DEEDS OF MAWGIS
When Reynaud had accomplished the delivering of his brother Richard,
he sent the greater part of his company back to Montalban, but he
himself remained with the rest, being minded to do some great thing
against King Charles. And this he did, for making his way into the
camp with his comrades, he came to the King's tent. Cutting the
cords, so that the whole tent fell to the ground, he laid hands on
the golden Eagle that was on the great pole in the middle, a thing so
costly that no man could tell the price thereof. In this Mawgis
helped him.
But this adventure had nearly turned out to the great disadvantage of
the brothers and Mawgis. For Mawgis was not content with the taking
of the Eagle, but would have slain the King. He made his way into
the inner part of the tent where the King lay, and said to him, "Sir
King, you have troubled us over long, slaying my father and doing us
all manner of mischief. And now you shall die." So saying, he
thrust at the King with his spear; but the King turned about, and the
spear was thrust into the bed two feet and more. Then was King
Charles sore afraid, and cried out for Roland. When Mawgis heard
this he looked round, and lo! Reynaud and the brethren were gone.
When he found himself to be alone, then, for all that he was as stout
a warrior as ever bare arms, he was not a little troubled, and turned
to flee. But many of the King's knights pursued him, and hindered
him from escaping, and at the last Oliver overthrew him, casting him
down from his horse to the ground, so that he was fain to yield
himself prisoner. And Oliver took him to the King's tent.
When the King saw him, he was very glad, and said, "Now, you false
thief, you shall pay for all the villainies that you have done."
"Sir King," answered Mawgis, "you have me in your power and you can
work your will upon me. Nevertheless, I will counsel you for the
best. Make peace, and you shall have the best knights in all the
world to serve you. But if you slay me, you shall get from the deed
no profit but much harm."
The King said to his Barons: "Now cause that they make a gallows, so
that I may hang this Mawgis or ever we sup." "Sir," said the Duke
Naymes, "I advise you to wait till the morrow. Your enemies will
mock you, saying that you durst not do this man to death in daylight
for fear of them." But the King answered, "I should be shamed,
indeed, if this fellow should escape."
When Mawgis heard these words, he said to the King, "If this is what
you fear, I will give you my word that I will not go away without
taking leave of you in due form." "But who will be your surety?"
said the King. Then Mawgis looking round, saw the twelve Peers, and
he said to Oliver, "Sir, when I yielded myself to you, you promised
to be surety for me to the King." Then he turned him to Roland, and
made the like request and so with all the Twelve. And the Peers
consented to his request, and stood surety for him.
Then Mawgis said to the King, "I am hungry, give me some meat." "Can
you eat," said the King, "being in such a plight?" But the Duke
Naymes said: "The man that has eaten is better prepared for all
things." "So be it," said the King; "but where shall the fellow
sit?" "He should best sit by you," said Roland. "You say well,"
answered the King, "for indeed I cannot trust him to be elsewhere."
After supper the King commanded that the Twelve Peers should watch
Mawgis through the night. Nor was he even then content, for he
called for irons, and bound the man's hands and his feet. And the
key of the irons he kept. "Now," said he, "you shall not escape me,
you false thief." "Think you so?" said Mawgis. "Nevertheless, I
shall be at Montalban to-morrow before prime." And the King was so
wroth, that he would have slain the man forthwith, only the Peers
hindered him.
This done, they sat down to play at the tables, and at chess, and at
other games. After a while they all felt a great desire to sleep.
Whereupon Mawgis began to work upon them with his magic. First he
made their sleep to be stronger by far, so that the King and the
Peers and the whole company were altogether mastered by it. Then
with another charm he loosed the collar from his neck and the fetters
from his legs. Then seeing that the King had fallen with his head
awry, he took a pillow and set it under him. Also he took from him
his sword Joyous, and from Roland his sword Durendal, and the sword
which Oliver carried, Hautclere by name. Also he took much treasure
out of the King's treasury. When he had so done, he took a herb that
he had, and rubbed the King's nose and lips with it, and said, "Wake,
Sir King, I said that I should not go without taking leave. Now,
therefore, farewell," and he vanished out of the place.
When the King came to himself, he was so angry as never man was
before. He would have woke the Peers, but could not, so fast asleep
were they. Then he bethought him of a certain herb that he had
brought from overseas. This he rubbed on the nose and mouth and eyes
of the Peers, and they awoke forthwith. Said the Duke Naymes, "Where
now is Mawgis?" "He is gone," answered the King, "and by your fault,
for ye hindered me when I would have hanged him." "Did you see him
depart?" said Oliver to Roland, "No, by St. Denis," answered Roland.
But the King said, "I saw him go with my own eyes." "Then you should
have warned us," said Roland, and as he spake he put his hand to his
side and missed his good sword Durendal. And when the Peers found
that their swords were gone they were fairly distraught with anger.
The next day the King said to his Barons: "Go now to Reynaud, and
tell him that if he will give back to me my golden Eagle and my
crown, and my sword Joyous, then I will grant him a truce for two
years. Ogier shall take this message, and the Duke Naymes and Turpin
the Archbishop."
So these mounted their horses and rode to Montalban. When they were
come to the gate, they called the porter and said to him, "We be
knights of the King, and would fain speak with Sir Reynaud." So the
porter told the thing to the brethren.
Richard went to the gate and saluted them courteously, and brought
them into the castle, where they were honourably received by Reynaud
and the Lady Clare, Alard also and Guichard helping. Then Ogier
delivered his message, and Reynaud said, "Tarry here, my lords, this
night, and we will give you an answer in the morning." To this they
consented. So a great feast was prepared, and they sat down and were
right royally entertained.
The next day the Duke Naymes said to Reynaud, "What answer do you
make to the King?" Reynaud answered, "I will do as he desires."
When Ogier the Dane heard this, he was glad, and thought within
himself, "Now will the King be greatly pleased. Maybe there shall be
not a truce only, but peace. If I can move Reynaud to come back with
us to the King, the two may well be reconciled." So he told his
thought to Reynaud and Reynaud consented to it.
The next day they set out. Ogier and the Duke Naymes went on with
all speed they might use to the King's camp; but Reynaud and Alard
followed slowly with Turpin and another.
In the meanwhile a certain spy, having knowledge of the whole matter,
made haste to tell it to the King, and this he did before that Ogier
and the Duke were come to the camp. When the King heard it, he said
to Oliver: "Take with you two hundred knights, and ride with all
haste to the river of Besançon, where, if you use diligence, you will
find Reynaud and Alard. Lay hold of them and bring them hither to
me."
So Oliver rode with his knights, and when he was come to the river,
he found Reynaud on foot and Bayard his horse so far from him that he
could not mount him; so he was taken unawares. Then he turned to
Turpin and that other in great anger, saying, "Villains, you have
betrayed me." "Sir," answered Turpin, "I swear to you that I am
innocent in this matter."
Reynaud said to Oliver, "Remember you how I helped you at Vancouleurs
when you were borne to the ground, giving you again your horse and
helping you to mount." "I remember it well," answered Oliver. "No
man shall harm you if I can hinder him. Nevertheless I must take you
to the King." So they set out to go to the camp.
But the Duke Naymes and Ogier and Oliver and all the Peers made
entreaty to the King, that he would make peace with the brethren.
But he hardened his heart against them. "You waste your breath," he
said, "I will do the thing that I choose, though you all shall say me
nay;" and turning to Reynaud he said, "You shall not cheat me as did
that false thief Mawgis, for I will cut you into pieces and burn the
pieces with fire." "Sir," answered Reynaud, "you shall not do so,
God being my helper."
The King, being thus defied, turned him to Ogier, and said, "Ogier,
will you take the part of my mortal enemy?" "That will not I,"
answered Ogier; "nevertheless I will defend my honour against all
men, even against the King."
Then said Reynaud, "Sir, you have said that I am a traitor. Now know
that I am no traitor, neither is there a traitor in all my house and
kindred. And if any man say ought against me or my kinsmen, then
will I fight with him, man to man." The King answered, "I will prove
my accusation against you by force of arms." Then Reynaud said
again. "Sir, you speak as a King should speak. I give you my gage
that I am as true a man as any that lives in the world." "I will
take your gage," answered the King, "If so be you can find sureties."
Then Ogier and Turpin and the Duke Naymes and another stood sureties
for him.
Reynaud said to the King, "Are you content with these sureties."
"That I am," answered the King. Then Reynaud would know with whom he
should fight. "With me," said the King. But when Roland heard this,
he said, "It must not be so, Sire; I will fight in your place." And
so it was ordered. Then Reynaud, being mounted on Bayard, with the
Duke Naymes and Ogier and other Peers, returned to Montalban.
CHAPTER VIII
HOW MAWGIS BECAME A HERMIT
Reynaud entertained the Barons that night in Royal fashion. The next
day, after they had heard mass, he was minded to set forth, and he
said to his brothers and Mawgis, "Tarry here and keep this castle."
"Nay," said Alard, "we will come with you. Maybe you will have need
of help." "Alard has spoken well," said Ogier the Dane. Then said
Reynaud to Mawgis, "You at the least will tarry here." "That will I
do, fair cousin," answered Mawgis, "and be sure that Montalban shall
suffer no harm through me."
Reynaud rode to Montfaucon, and there he found Roland waiting for
him. Roland spake the first, and said, "Be sure, Sir Reynaud, that
when you leave the field this day, you will so leave it that you will
never again fight with me or any other man." "Such threatenings do
not become so good a knight," answered Reynaud. Roland said again,
"I am not here for peace, but for war. If you are wise you will keep
yourself far from me." "You are overproud," answered Reynaud, "maybe
I shall abate your high thoughts."
When Reynaud had spoken these words, he spurred Bayard and charged
Roland, and Roland also charged from his side. With so great a shock
did they come together, that their spears were broken to pieces. As
for Reynaud, he was borne to the earth, his saddle girths breaking,
and Roland's feet were thrust out of the stirrups. Then Reynaud
rising quickly from the ground smote Roland a mighty blow with his
sword, so that he scarce knew where he was. Nevertheless, drawing
his good sword Durendal, he made at Reynaud, and dealt him a great
stroke. Long and fierce was the battle between these two, for they
both were as hardy knights as lived.
Then the Duke Naymes cried to the King, "This is ill done to send to
their death two such valiant knights, who might do good service
against the heathen. Bid them cease from their fighting, Sir King."
But the King said nought.
Reynaud said to Roland, "Let us light down and fight afoot lest by
chance we should kill our horses, for if we lose them we are not like
to get their like again." With this Roland was content. So they
lighted down from their horses and fought on foot. First they fought
with swords, but neither one could get the better of the other. When
Roland saw that he could not prevail with his sword he caught the
other round the waist, and wrestled with him in the same fashion as
the Northerners use. So they two strove together for so long a time
as a man might take for the running of a mile. Then seeing that
neither could throw the other they sat down, being utterly wearied;
their helmets and shields were partly broken, and the ground whereon
they had stood was trampled as if men had beaten corn thereon.
Then there came to pass a right wonderful thing. There suddenly fell
upon the two so thick a cloud that neither could see the other. Then
Roland, having bethought himself awhile, said to Reynaud, "Will you
do me a courteous turn, and I will some day, if you should need it,
do the same to you." Reynaud answered, "I am ready to do whatsoever
you shall ask me." Then Roland said, "I will that you take me with
you to Montalban, for I am persuaded in my mind that in this matter
you have the right and I the wrong."
So Roland mounted his horse, and Reynaud mounted on Bayard, and they
rode away side by side. When King Charles saw them he was not a
little astonished, and leaping upon his horse he cried aloud, "Now
shall I see who is on my side." And he hurried after the two
knights, and many Frenchmen went with him.
By this time the King, having been baulked of his will once again,
for he had counted it for certain that Roland would overcome Reynaud,
was yet more steadfastly determined not to give peace to the
brethren; therefore he bade Duke Richard of Normandy ride on and
guard the crossing over the river while he himself followed with all
the host that he could muster.
So the King and his army came to Montalban and set up his tent before
the great gates of the castle. One came to Mawgis and said, "The
King is come with a great host, and has set up his tent before the
great wall." "Take no heed of this," answered Mawgis; "if the King
has done this thing he has done it to his own loss."
When Reynaud knew of the matter he told it to Roland, and Roland
said, "I will now send to the King my uncle this message--that
Reynaud has dealt with me right courteously; also that he and his
brethren and Mawgis will give themselves and their castle into his
hands if only he will promise to save us alive." "You speak well,"
said Reynaud; "I am content to do this."
Then they doubted who should take this message to the King. At last
it was agreed that the Duke of Naymes and Ogier the Dane should take
it. So these two went to the King where he sat in his tent before
the great gates of the castle.
But the King hardened his heart, and would not listen to the Duke
Naymes and Ogier. Nay more, he cried, "Flee from this place, ye
villains! Reynaud shall have no peace with me till I have Mawgis to
do with as I will." Then the Barons went back to the castle and told
how they had fared. Reynaud said, "I wonder that the King is so hard
of heart. But Mawgis I will not give to him; no, not though I should
die for it."
Then they went to supper, and ate their meat with much cheerfulness.
Supper being ended, Reynaud said to Mawgis, "Cousin, I pray you to
watch this night, for on this hangs the lives of us all." "Sleep in
peace," answered Mawgis, "for all shall be well."
When all the Barons were abed Mawgis took Bayard out of his stable
and rode to the King's camp. When he was come thither he cast upon
all the host, by a charm that he had, a very deep sleep. This done,
he went to the King's tent and took him out of his bed and laid him
across Bayard, and carried him, still sleeping, to Montalban.
Mawgis went to the chamber of Reynaud and said to him, "Cousin, what
would you give me if I should deliver the King into your hands?" "I
would give you whatsoever you shall ask," answered Reynaud. "Promise
me then that you will do him no harm," said Mawgis. Reynaud
answered, "I promise." Then Mawgis led him to his own chamber and
showed him the King asleep in his bed.
When Mawgis had delivered the King to Reynaud he went to the stable
where he had left Bayard and rubbed the horse's back and head with
straw, and kissed him, weeping the while. This done he put on him
his pilgrim's garb, and having given the porter all the clothing that
he had, went forth from the gate.
Mawgis journeyed till he came to the river Dordogne. This he crossed
in a boat, and having passed through a pine forest that was on the
other side of the river, came to a well whereby there was a little
house with a spring before the door, in which a hermit might
conveniently dwell. Having entered the house he saw an oratory and
in it an image of Our Lady, and when he had knelt down before it he
prayed that Our Lord would forgive him his sins. This done, he made
a great vow that he would abide in that place for the rest of his
life, eating only such wild things as were in the wood. This he did
thinking that if he were away the King would make peace with the
brethren.
CHAPTER IX
OF WHAT BEFELL AT MONTALBAN
There was great trouble and wondering when the brethren knew that
Mawgis was not in Montalban. So they called the porter and asked him
what he knew. The porter said, "Sir Mawgis went out on Bayard; in a
little while he came back, having a man of great stature on the
horse's neck before him, and went into the castle. Then he came
forth again, poorly clad and on another horse. More than this I know
not."
When Richard heard this he gnashed his teeth for anger, saying, "All
this comes of the hatred that the King bears to us and to our
kindred. Fain would I slay him," and he made as if he would draw his
sword from the scabbard. But the others held him back, and they
reasoned with him till he had promised to do no hurt to the King.
When they told what had happened to Roland and the other Barons they
were not a little astonished, and Ogier the Dane said, "All this
trouble comes through the King's rage against the brethren, for
indeed it is beyond all measure. But now I trust there will be
peace. In very truth there has been war too long, and many good
knights have been slain."
And now the charm that Mawgis had laid upon the King came to an end,
and he woke out of his sleep. And when he knew that he was in the
castle of Montalban, being aware that this was of Mawgis's doing, he
was yet more angry than before, saying that there should be no peace
till Mawgis should be delivered to him.
When Richard heard him speak in this fashion he said, "Do you
threaten us, Sire, in this fashion, being a prisoner and in our
power?" But Reynaud said, "Be silent, my brother; let the King say
what he will; 'tis for us to pray that he make peace with us." Then
the brethren and all the knights and Barons that were there, whether
of one party or of the other, fell upon their knees before the King,
and begged that he would make peace, but the King hardened his heart,
saying, "There shall be no peace till Mawgis be delivered to my will."
Reynaud said, "My lord King, if you had my three brothers in your
power, and were about to hang them, even then would I not deliver
Mawgis to you. But besides this I know not where he is." "I do
believe that he is in this very place," said the King. "I swear by
my baptism," cried Reynaud, "that this is not so, and I know not
whither he is gone."
Then again all the Barons made intercession with the King that he
would grant peace to the brethren, and to Mawgis. But the King did
not abate in his wrath by one jot. "I will have Mawgis, that I may
work my will upon him."
When Reynaud heard these words he rose up from his knees, for before
he had been kneeling to the King, and said, speaking to Roland and to
the other lords that were of the King's part, "Seeing that the King
has hardened his heart, and will have no mercy on me and my kinsmen,
I do call you to witness that I will henceforth seek my right by all
means that a true knight may lawfully use." Then he turned him to
the King and said, "You may go in peace when you will, I will do you
no hurt, for you are my sovereign lord."
When the King's Barons heard these words they were not a little
astonished, not thinking that any man could deal so generously with
his enemy. As for Richard, he was greatly displeased, and said, "Now
have you let the enemy go; I fear me much that we shall all pay for
this ill courtesy that you have shown to him with our lives." But
Reynaud answered, "Be silent, brother; know that I will not compel
the King to do that which is against his will. And now depart from
my sight, for your high words please me not."
Then Reynaud called to him a gentleman of his household, and said,
"Go now without any tarrying to the yeoman that has charge of my
horses and bid him bring me Bayard. I will that my sovereign lord
should ride back upon him to his camp; better horse he could not
have." So the yeoman brought Bayard, and the King mounted upon him
and rode him to his camp, where the Frenchmen very gladly received
him.
The King bade a squire take Bayard back to Montalban, whom, when
Reynaud saw, he said to Roland and the other Barons, "My good lords,
I know that the King is displeased with you for your love of me. Now
therefore depart and make your peace with him. As for me, if I have
aught against you, I forgive it with all my heart."
When the Duke Naymes heard these words, he would have kneeled to
Reynaud, but this good knight would not suffer it. Then said the
Duke, "Surely it cannot but be that the King's heart will be softened
when he shall hear how nobly Reynaud has borne himself in this
matter." "You say well," said the other Barons.
Then there were brought from the stables Roland's horse and the
horses of the others. When they were now mounted there came forth
from the palace the Lady Clare, and said to them, "My lords, I do
entreat you to make peace, if by any means it may be done, between
the King and my husband, for indeed he bears a large heart, as you
very well know." And the Duke Naymes answered, "Lady, we will do it
if it may be." So he and his fellows took their leave of Reynaud and
the Lady Clare with much sorrow, and rode to the King's camp.
The Barons made intercession to the King that he would accord peace
to Reynaud, but he would not hear, but rather was more inflamed with
anger than before against him and his kinsmen. First, he bade his
men make an assault upon the castle. This they did with great zeal,
bringing engines wherewith to cast stones and darts against it, and
setting ladders against the walls by which they climbed up to the
highest parts. But all these things availed nothing, but rather
turned to the damage of the King's men, of whom many were wounded and
slain.
When the King perceived that he could not prevail in this way he bade
his men cease from assaulting the castle, saying, "If I cannot take
the hold of these villains by force I will take it by hunger." He
set therefore at every gate two hundred knights, who suffered no man
to go out or enter in.
After a while there came to be a great famine in Montalban, so that a
man could not buy food for silver or gold, and not a few perished
with hunger.
When knowledge of these things came to the King's ears he rejoiced
greatly, saying to his Barons, "This time, methinks, Reynaud shall
not escape me. By St. Denis, I will hang him, and drag the false
Richard at a horse's tail, and deal with Alard and Guichard in the
same way."
But Roland and Ogier and the Duke Naymes were very sorry, and made
supplication to the King, but he hardened his heart against them.
In the castle the famine was so sore that Reynaud and his people
could scarcely keep life in them. Then the Lady Clare said to her
husband, "We have more than a hundred horses in the stables, let us,
therefore, cause one of them to be slain, that you and I and the
children may have a morsel of meat, for indeed we have not had aught
for these three days past." And when she had so spoken she fell down
in a swoon at her husband's feet.
Then Reynaud went to the stables, and choosing one of the horses,
commanded that it should be killed and dressed for food, and this was
done, but it was a little thing among so many. And so they did till
all the horses were eaten, save four, that is to say Bayard, and one
horse of each of the brethren.
At the last it came to this, that there was nothing left to eat but
these four horses only. But Richard said, "My horse you shall not
have, no, not though we die all of us. Verily we had not been
brought to this pass but for our folly when we had the King in our
hands and suffered him to go free." When the boy Aymon, that was son
to Reynaud, heard this, he said, "What profits it, uncle, to speak of
that which is past and gone? Besides this I do not doubt that the
kindness which my father showed to the King will turn some day to his
profit."
When Richard heard the boy speak so wisely he took him in his arms
and kissed him, weeping the while, and said to Reynaud, "Let my horse
be killed and given for meat to the Lady Clare and to the young boys
my nephews, and to others that have need." And so it was done.
After a few days it came to this, that Bayard only of all the horses
was left alive. And when the brethren would have had him also killed
for food, Reynaud withstood them, saying that he would sooner die
than that his horse should be killed. Yet when the Lady Clare
besought him, and his children also, he yielded to them, saying that
the horse should die. So he went to the stable, that he might do
this deed himself. Yet when he looked upon Bayard, and had called to
mind how many times the noble beast had saved his life, he repented
him of his purpose. Then he gave him a handful of hay, for indeed
there was nothing else that he could give, and went back to the Lady
Clare and his brethren and said, "Endure till nightfall and you shall
have meat. This I promise you," for he had a purpose in his heart.
Then he saddled Bayard, and came stealthily to his father's tent,
that was in the King's camp, for he knew well where it was.
When Reynaud saw the Duke Aymon he said to him, "For pity's sake, my
father, give me food, for my wife and my children and my brothers and
all my people are dying of hunger. As I live there is but this horse
Bayard that is left to us." But the Duke answered, "I have sworn an
oath to the King that I will not give you any help by food or
otherwise."
Reynaud said again, "My father, have pity upon your own flesh, for
such we are. The King does us great wrong when he persecutes us in
this fashion."
When the Duke heard these words he well-nigh fell into a swoon for
pity. After a while he said, "You say truly that the King does you
wrong. Now, therefore, light off your horse and go into the tent,
and take whatsoever you can find, nor shall any man say you nay; but
for my oath's sake, I may not give you aught." So Reynaud went into
the tent, and took such things as he could find and laid them on the
back of Bayard, and carried them to Montalban. That night they ate
their meat in the castle with much gladness of heart.
The next day the Duke Aymon called his steward and said to him, "Take
now the three engines that the King commanded me to make for
assailing the castle, and fill them, not with stones, but with flesh,
both salt and fresh, and with loaves of bread, and with other
victuals, and cause that they discharge these things into the
castle." And the steward did as the Duke commanded him.
When the King heard what the Duke Aymon had done he was very angry,
and sent for him to his tent. And when the Duke came he said to him,
"How are you so bold that you feed my mortal enemies. Verily you
shall lose your head for it." The Duke answered, "Sire, if you
should burn me by fire yet will I not fail my children. They are no
thieves or murderers, or traitors, but as good and true knights as
are in all the world."
When the King heard the Duke speak in this sort, he made as if he
would have struck him. But the Duke Naymes stood forth and said,
"Sire, I would counsel you to send the Duke to his house. You cannot
look for him to be with you in this matter, that he should see his
children die before his eyes." Then the King said to the Duke Aymon,
"Get you out of my camp forthwith, for you have done me more harm
than can well be told." And the Duke answered, "I will do your
bidding willingly." But before he went, he said to the Peers: "My
lords, I commend my children to you. See, I pray you, that they come
to no harm."
The King commanded that all the engines of war should be broken, for
he feared lest others also of the Barons should throw victuals into
the castle. So Reynaud and his men had peace, for no man made
assault upon the castle. But after certain days, the provisions
being all consumed, the famine was as sore as it had been at the
first.
Alard said, "My brother, we cannot live longer without meat." Then
Reynaud took a sword in his hand and went to the stable, having it in
his heart to slay his horse. And when Bayard saw him, for he had not
come thither for many days, he made good cheer. Then Reynaud said,
"I were cruel indeed if I did thee harm, good beast that thou art."
But Yonnet, who was his younger son, said, "Father, do you chose that
my mother and my brother should die, and Bayard live?"
Then Reynaud was much troubled, doubting what he should do. Then he
bethought him of a thing that he might do. He called for a basin,
and took blood from the horse, and this being mixed with other things
of which they had a little he prepared a mess, by which the Lady
Clare and the children were a little sustained. This he did for four
days, but on the fifth day the horse was grown so feeble that there
came no blood from him at all. And now it seemed as if all hope were
gone.
Reynaud and his kindred and his house being in these straits, there
came an old man who would speak with him. "Sir," said he, "you have
done as well as could have been done by any man in keeping this
castle, but now you can do no more. But listen to me. I was at the
building of this place many years ago, when I was but a young child.
And I mind me that the lord that builded it made a secret way by
which a man might escape if he was so minded. This way I will show
you, and you can depart from this place by it without danger."
[Illustration: REYNAUD AND BAYARD.]
Reynaud was right glad to hear this thing so that he forgot his
hunger. Then he took his horse, which, indeed, could scarce stand
for feebleness, and all the folk that were left in the castle; and
they entered the secret way that the old man showed them. When they
had gone a part of the way, Reynaud saw that they had not with them
King John of Gascony. He said, "We have done ill to leave King John.
It would be shame to us were he to die like a starving wolf that has
fallen into a pit." So he went back and brought him. The others had
small pleasure to see him, for even the Lady Clare, that was his
sister, spake sharply to him saying, "Brother, you have done me such
damage that you well deserved to die." But Reynaud said, "I have
sworn homage to the King, and I must needs save him." And when the
others heard these words, they confessed that Reynaud's thoughts were
more worthy of a Christian man than theirs.
So having gone along the secret way for a while, they came to the
end, and having issued forth found that they were in the Wood of the
Serpent. Many things they suffered as they went, yet for hope's sake
and by help of such wild fruits as they gathered on the way they bear
up. And so with much toil and trouble they came to Ardennes, and
were received with much gladness.
CHAPTER X
HOW PEACE WAS MADE
It happened about seven days after these things that the King rode by
the castle, for he would fain know how the besieged fared. When he
could see no man on the walls, he was not a little astonished, and
going back straightway to the camp called his Barons together and
told them of this matter.
The Duke Naymes said, "We must find out what has overtaken these
people; let us feign to make an assault." So they feigned to make an
assault, but no man came forth to defend the castle. Then the King
said: "They are all dead of hunger," and he commanded that a long
ladder should be set against the walls. By this certain of the Peers
mounted, Roland being first of all, and after him Ogier the Dane and
Oliver. But finding no man they descended on the other side and
opened the gates that the King might come in.
So the King came in; but when he saw neither man, woman, or child in
the whole place he was much astonished. And as he searched he found
the secret way, which when he had seen he cried, "This has that false
knave Mawgis done. Verily he will break my very heart for anger."
But the Duke Naymes answered, "Not so, my lord; this way has been
made many years."
Then by commandment of the King, Roland and a company of men went by
the secret way till he came to the Wood of the Serpent. Nor were
there wanting signs that many people had passed that way. So he
returned to the castle and told what he had seen to the King, and the
King with his host tarried awhile in Montalban.
A messenger came to the King, with tidings of the brethren. He said
that he had seen them keeping a great court at the city of Ardennes,
and that they had much treasure with them, and a great company.
When the King heard this he swore by St. Denys that he would not rest
in his bed till he had besieged Reynaud and his company. So he
commanded his Barons that they should make ready their baggage and
march with all the haste they could on to Ardennes, and this they did.
When Reynaud was aware of their coming he swore a great oath that he
would not suffer himself to be besieged. "Rather," said he, "would I
fight with the King in the open field; verily, if by chance he should
come into my hands I would not have pity on him as I did in past
time." "Now, my brother," said Richard, "you speak as a man; if it
come to fighting I will not fail of my duty." And Guichard and Alard
said the same.
Then Reynaud ordered his host in a very skilful fashion, and mounting
on Bayard rode towards the van of the King's army. When the King saw
him coming, he grew so mad with rage that he was ready to fight with
him, man to man. When the Duke Naymes perceived this, he said,
"Sire, what mean you to do? It were folly to fight with these men.
Rather make peace with them. For whether we prevail or they, there
were a grievous loss of brave men, such as shall never be recovered."
"Have done with such counsel," said the King, "I had rather be torn
in sunder than make peace with these villains. Speak to me,
therefore, no longer on this matter, but do you bear the Oriflamme of
France as becomes a noble knight." "That will I do," said the Duke.
"Verily, there is no man so old but that he will get hot in battle."
Then the hosts joined in battle, and the fight grew fiercer and
fiercer. First Reynaud and the brethren drave back the King's hosts.
With his first blow Reynaud clave a knight's head to the teeth, and
with his sword shore the head of another clean from his neck. Then
with a loud voice he cried, "Ardennes," and the courage of his men
waxed so high that the King's men could in no wise stand against them.
When the King saw this he charged with all his might against his
adversaries, slaying a knight at each blow. And when his spear was
broken, he drew his sword, and did therewith marvellous deeds of
arms. Never did he bear himself more valiantly than he did that day.
When Roland saw how his uncle fought in the very front of the battle,
he was greatly afraid lest some mischance should befall him.
Wherefore, spurring his horse, he made all haste to help him. The
rest of the Twelve Peers did the same, and the King's host was stayed
up against Reynaud's men. From prime to noon the battle was so equal
that no man could say whether this side or that prevailed. But when
the sun began to move to its setting, Reynaud's men began to give
way, being fewer in number and spent with fighting. Then Reynaud
said to him that bear his standard, "It is time to rest, carry the
standard homeward."
When the King perceived this, he cried with a loud voice, "They fly;
follow them with all speed; suffer them not to escape." This thing
was the cause of no small damage; for Reynaud and his brothers and
the knights that were of his side turned upon them that followed and
slew many, and took prisoner Richard, Duke of Normandy. Him they
carried into Ardennes and shut to the gates.
Roland went to the King and said, "The brethren have taken Duke
Richard; lest, therefore, he come to any harm, offer conditions of
peace. Remember, Sire, that you have now made war upon the sons of
Aymon for fifteen years. Truly, had you done as much against the
Saracens as you have done against them, you had brought them by this
time under the Christian faith."
The King said, "Speak no more of peace; it shall not be save on
conditions that you know. As for the Duke Richard they will not dare
to harm him."
So the King laid siege against the city, and brought up great engines
of war against it, expecting that Reynaud would deliver it into his
hands, for he thought that by this time his strength must be
well-nigh spent. But when many days had gone by, and there came no
messenger from the town, he began to doubt within himself. So he
called his lords together, and said to them, "It troubles me that we
have no tidings of Duke Richard." Roland answered, "Sire, I marvel
that you do not perceive the truth. The Duke Richard we shall never
see again, unless you make peace with Reynaud and his brethren."
When the King had considered the matter awhile, knowing that Roland
had spoken truth, he said, "Go now, three of you, to wit, Duke
Naymes, Ogier the Dane, and Roland, with olive branches in your
hands, and say to him, 'Thus saith the King, deliver to me Mawgis
into my hands, and I will give you peace; you and your brothers shall
have your lands again, and your two sons I will receive at my court,
and I will make them knights with my own hands.'"
The three Barons went, with olive branches in their hands, and
delivered the King's message to Reynaud. He answered, "My lords, I
am glad with all my heart to see you; nevertheless I marvel much at
the King's message. He demands that I shall give over Mawgis to him.
Now all the world knows that I have not Mawgis to give or not to
give. Truly I have lost him, and better friend or kinsman never was,
by the King's cruelty and hardness of heart. Return therefore to the
King and say, 'Mawgis I have not to give, nor would I give him if I
had. As for the Duke Richard, I will hang him to-morrow over the
chief gate at Ardennes.' And you, come no more on such an errand to
me. I promise you that if any man come hereafter with such a message
from the King, I will smite off his head."
So the three Barons returned to the King, and told him the words of
Reynaud. And Roland said, "Sire, take it not ill, if I tell you that
for your pride you will cause the Duke Richard to die. These sons of
Aymon are the best knights in all the world, and they have asked
peace of you, not once only but many times, and you have hardened
your heart against them." The other Peers spake to the same intent.
But the King would not listen to them. "Not so," said he, "they will
not dare to hurt the Duke; verily, if they do such a deed I will hang
them all with my own hand."
The next day Reynaud said to his brothers, "It is manifest that the
King will not give us peace. I am resolved, therefore, to do him all
the harm I can, and first I will hang the Duke Richard before his
eyes and the eyes of all his host."
So Reynaud caused that a gallows should be set up over the chief gate
of Ardennes. When this was done he sent ten yeomen to fetch the
Duke. Now the Duke sat in his chamber playing chess with Yonnet,
that was son to Reynaud. One of the yeomen said to him, "Sir Duke,
come forth, for Reynaud has commanded that you be hanged forthwith."
When the Duke heard him speak in this fashion, he disdained to make
any answer, but said to Yonnet, "Play you quickly, for it is time
that we go to dinner." When the yeomen saw that he paid no heed to
them, they laid hands on him, one on each side, saying, "Rise up, Sir
Duke, for you are to be hanged in despite of the King." When the
Duke perceived that the men had hold of him, having one of the chess
pieces in his hand, to wit, the Queen, with which he was about to
give mate to Yonnet, he drew back his arm and gave one of the men
such a buffet on the head as killed him outright. After this he took
a rook from the board, and gave another yeoman such a stroke that his
skull was broken; to a third he dealt a great blow with his fist and
slew him. The others seeing how their fellows had fared, fled
forthwith out of the chamber. Then the Duke said to Yonnet, "My
child, you are fairly mated; as for these fellows they are drunken, I
take it, to use me in such a fashion; but they have had their
deserts," and he called to a servant that was there, saying, "Cast
now these churls out of the window," and the man cast them out,
fearing much, lest he should be dealt with in the same way.
When Reynaud and his brethren heard what the Duke had done, they went
to his chamber in great wrath, and said, "Why have you slain my
yeomen?" The Duke answered, "There came to my chamber ten churls
saying that you had given commandment that I should be hanged, a
thing which I could in no wise believe. For this cause I drave them
out of my chamber, slaying some of them--I know not how many. Now if
I have done amiss you can do to me what you will. But I judge the
matter thus, that if these churls suffered at my hand the blame lies
rather at the door of them that sent them on this errand."
Reynaud said in great wrath, "Believe it or no, as you will, but I am
steadfastly purposed to have you hanged before the eyes of the King
and his army." And he caused the Duke to be bound.
When the Duke perceived that Reynaud was truly purposed to deal with
him in this fashion, he said, "Suffer me now to send a messenger to
the King." "You shall send him," said Reynaud. So the Duke sent a
messenger bearing two messages, to the King one, and another to the
Peers. To the King he said, "I pray you, Sir, if you ever loved me,
to make peace with Reynaud. If he have done aught amiss against you
I will be his surety, and will answer for him that he shall make
amends." To the Peers he said, "Show now to the King that if he
suffer me thus to die, he shall do himself such dishonour as shall
never be done away."
When these messages were delivered (but the King knew not that
Richard had sent to the Peers) there was great debate, for the King
hardened his heart as he had done before, and the Peers were urgent
with him that he should turn from his anger. And the strife between
them waxed so hot that the Peers departed from the King, taking their
men with them, so that day the King's host was made the smaller by
forty thousand men.
When the messenger came back with these tidings, how that the King
was still hardened but that the Peers had departed from him, Reynaud
was greatly moved, and turning to Duke Richard he said, "I pray you,
my good cousin, pardon me for the great shame that I have done you."
The Duke answered, "I blame you not. Rather do I blame the King for
his cruelty and hardness of heart." Then Reynaud caused him to be
unbound, and said, "Stand here by me, my cousin, and we will see what
the King will do."
And now the King was at last brought to a better mind, for he said to
a knight that waited on him, "Ride now as fast as you may, and when
you come to the Peers tell them that I will listen to their counsel."
So the knight rode with all speed, and when he had overtaken the
Peers he delivered to them the King's message. And they came back to
the camp.
The King said, "Go now to Reynaud and say to him, 'The King gives you
peace on these conditions. You shall go in pilgrim's garb to the
Holy Land, and on foot, begging your bread. You shall leave me your
horse Bayard. On the other hand, I will restore to your brothers all
their lands.'"
So the Duke Naymes went to Ardennes and told to Reynaud the King's
conditions. Reynaud answered, "I accept them with my whole heart."
Then he went to the stable, and took Bayard from his stall, and
delivered him to the Duke Naymes. This done he took his banner, and
raised it on the wall of the castle to be a token of peace. After
this he went to his chamber, and, putting off his rich apparel, clad
himself in poor garments, and took a pilgrim's staff in his hand, and
so made ready to depart. But first he took leave of his wife, the
Lady Clare. So sad at heart was she that she fell down at his feet
like to one dead. When she had come to herself he said, "Take not
this thing so much to heart. As for me I have such joy at the making
of peace that the time of my banishment seems to be past already.
Now may God have you in His keeping!" And he kissed her right
tenderly, and went his way.
When the Lady Clare saw him go she fell again into a swoon, and this
so sore that her gentlewomen deemed that she was dead. When she
revived she said, "O Reynaud, my lord, there was never husband so
good as you. Well I know that I shall never see you again." Then
she went to her chamber, and took off her rich garments and clad
herself poorly, saying, "This will I wear till my lord shall come
again in peace."
As for Reynaud, his brethren and Duke Richard of Normandy and many
others went with him a long way. But he said after a while, "My
friends, you make my going the harder to me; I were better alone.
Return now to Ardennes and comfort my wife and my children."
So they took leave of him with many tears.
CHAPTER XI
OF REYNAUD'S END
It must now be told in a few words what Reynaud did in the Holy Land,
and what befell him afterwards.
First, then, when he was come to the city of Constantinople, he
lighted by chance on his cousin Mawgis, who was lying sick in a
certain house. So much did Mawgis rejoice to see Reynaud, that he
was straightway made whole of the sickness that he had. Then the two
went on together, and coming to Jerusalem, did excellent service for
the true faith, delivering the city out of the hand of the Sultan of
Persia, who had taken it by treachery.
This done the two departed, for they would not take any reward, and
came to Rome. There they confessed their sins to the Pope, and
having received absolution, made their way with all the speed they
could to the city of Ardennes, where the brethren and all the people
received them gladly.
Reynaud said, "I marvel much that I see not here either my wife or my
children." Richard answered, "Your sons are at Montalban in all
health and prosperity." "That is well," said Reynaud, but perceiving
that his brethren were troubled, he bade them tell him the truth, for
"I see," said he, "that you have heavy tidings." Then said Alard,
"We may not hide from you that your wife, the Lady Clare, is dead.
For when you left, she sorrowed continually, weeping both by day and
by night, and so wasted away that she died."
Reynaud said, "Take me now to the place where you buried her." So
they took him to the church wherein was her sepulchre. As he stood
there weeping, there came to him his children, for they had been
brought from Montalban, and kneeled down before him. And Reynaud
kissed them and said, "See that you be good men, for I fear that I
shall not be long with you."
Ten days afterwards he and his two sons and Mawgis departed from
Ardennes, and came to Montalban. As for Mawgis, he returned to the
Hermitage where he had dwelt at the first, and died there after seven
years, being much honoured as a holy man.
Not long after the Duke Aymon died, bequeathing much wealth to his
children. All this Reynaud divided among his brethren, keeping for
himself the castle of Montalban, and this for a time only, for he was
resolved to give up all worldly things.
In Montalban, therefore, he dwelt awhile, with his two sons, teaching
them and training them in all honourable and godly ways. When he saw
that they were each instructed in arms and in all other things that a
good knight should know, he bade his steward furnish them with goodly
clothing and arms and all other things needful. This done, he
charged them that they should bear themselves honourably. "Be
courteous," he said, "to all ladies; reverence those above you; be
ready to help those that are in need; love your neighbour; so shall
you have praise of all men." And when he had said these words, he
bade them farewell, not without tears.
How these two fared at the King's Court, how they were in great
favour with the King, and how they overcame their enemies--for the
children of a certain lord that had hated their father sought to do
them an injury--cannot be told in this place. Let it suffice to say
that they prospered exceedingly.
Now must be told the end of Reynaud. When he saw that his sons were
well established in dignity, he departed from Montalban and journeyed
to the city of Cologne, in which city there was now in course of
building a very fair church. He said to the master-mason, "Let me
now serve the masons with such things as they need." The
master-mason said, "Sir, you are more like to a king than a labourer,
and it shames me to set you to such work." Reynaud answered, "Say
not so; I will serve with a good will." And the man was well content
to have it so.
After a while, the master-mason said to him, "See you those poor men
that seek to carry a stone yonder? Go you and help them, for they
are but weaklings." So Reynaud went; he said to the men, "Go and do
what else is appointed of you, for I will deal with this stone." So
he carried the stone to its place, though it were of such a bigness
that four men could scarcely handle it. And after this he fetched
other stones and mortar, and these in such plenty that the masons had
much ado to deal with them.
When it was evening the masons came to be paid, and each man's wage
was five pennies. But when the master-mason saw Reynaud, he said,
"You shall have twenty pence, for you have laboured so as I have
never seen any man labour. And you shall have as much every day."
"Nay," answered Reynaud, "give me one penny only, that I may have
wherewithal to keep me, for I work not for wages, but for the love of
my God."
Then Reynaud found a lodging in the town, and bought for himself one
pennyworth of bread, and of this and some water he made his supper.
The next day he went to his work, and this he did many days, taking
for his wage but one penny only.
But the other masons grew jealous of him, because that he was much
better and stronger than they. So they laid a plot against him, and
on a certain day when he slept they slew him, and having put his body
into a sack, they cast it into the river.
Of the marvellous things that happened in respect of this said
Reynaud, they that will may read elsewhere. Let it suffice to say in
this place that the body was found after certain days and was
honourably buried in the church of Cologne, and that year by year a
feast is held in the memory of the Lord Reynaud, for indeed he was a
very perfect, gentle knight.
And now it remains only to tell of the horse Bayard that was
delivered, as has been said, to the King. When the host, returning
to Paris, came to the river Meuse, a millstone was tied about his
neck, and he was cast into the river. Some have said that this was
done by command of the King; but this is not a thing to be believed.
In any case, the good horse was not harmed, for he brake with his
feet the stone from off his neck, and swimming to the shore, escaped
to the forest of Ardennes, where he lived for many years, but
suffered neither man nor woman to come near him.
CHAPTER XII
HOW RALPH ENTERTAINED THE KING
On the feast of St. Thomas, which is four days before Yule, King
Charles rode out of the city of Paris with a great company of princes
and nobles. As they rode across the moor a great tempest from the
east fell upon them. So fierce was the wind and so heavy the rain,
that they were scattered over the country, nor could they tell, the
day being well nigh as dark as night, whither they were going. Of
what befell the rest of the company there is no need to tell; this
tale concerns King Charles only.
As he rode in sore plight, not knowing where he might find shelter,
he was aware of a churl, who was leading a mare carrying two great
panniers. "Now tell me your name," said the King. "They call me
Ralph the Charcoal-burner," said the man. "I live in these parts--my
house is seven miles hence--and I earn my bread with no little toil,
selling coals to such as need them." "Friend," said the King, "I
mean you no ill, for I judge you to be an honest man." "Judge as you
will," answered Ralph, "I care not." "I am in sore need of a
friend," said the King; "for both my horse and I are ready to perish,
the storm is so fierce. Tell me then where I can find shelter."
"Shelter!" said Ralph, "I know of none, save in my own cottage, and
that is far hence in the forest. But to that you are welcome, if you
care to come with me."
The King was right glad to hear these words. "That is well," said
he, "God reward you for your goodness." "Nay," answered the churl,
"keep your thanks till they have been earned. As yet you have had
from me nothing, neither fire, nor meat, nor dinner, nor
resting-place. To-morrow when you go you can thank me, if you be so
minded, with better reason. To praise first, and, may be, to blame
afterwards--that is contrary to sense." "So shall it be," said the
King. So they went their way, talking as they went.
When they were come to the house Ralph called with a loud voice to
his wife, "Are you within, dame? Come out, open the door without
delay. My guest and I are shivering with cold; such evil weather I
have never seen." The good wife, when she heard her master's voice,
made all haste to the door, knowing that he was a man of a hasty
temper. "You are welcome home," said she to Ralph; and to the
stranger, "You are welcome also." "Kindle a great fire," said Ralph,
"and take two capons of the best, that we may have good cheer," and
he took the King by the hand, and would have him go before him into
the house. But the King stood back by the door, and would have the
charcoal-burner pass in before him. "That is but poor courtesy,"
said the man, and took him by the neck and pushed him in.
When they had warmed themselves awhile by the fire, which was blazing
in right royal fashion, Ralph cried to his wife, "Let us have supper,
Gillian, as quickly as may be, and of the best, for we have had a
toilsome day, and may well have a merry night. Never have I suffered
worse weather or been so near to losing my way as when I met with
this stranger here."
In no long time, when they had washed themselves, the supper was
ready. "Now, friend," said Ralph, "take the dame by the hand, and
lead her to the board." And when the King held back, he cried, "Now
this is the second time," and smote him suddenly under the ear with
his right hand, so strongly that he staggered half across the
chamber, and fell to the ground. When the King rose, and indeed he
could scarcely stand, "Now, Gillian," said Ralph, "take him by the
hand and go to the table as I bid you." To his guest he said, "Now
this is the second time that you have been lacking in courtesy, first
by the door, and then at the table. Will you not do as you are bid?
Am not I the master of my own house?" The King said to himself,
"These are strange doings. Never have I been so dealt with in all my
life." Nevertheless for peace' sake he did as he was bid, and giving
his hand to the dame, led her to the table. So they sat, the
charcoal-burner on one side of the table, and the King and dame
Gillian on the other. Right good cheer they had, fat capons, and
bread, and wine of the best. Truly they wanted for nothing.
Said the churl to the King, "Sir, the foresters in this place
threaten me much about the deer. They say that I am ever bringing
down the fattest of the herd. They will hale me, they say, to Paris,
and bring me before the King, and make complaint against me. Say
what they will, why should I not have enough for myself, aye, and to
set before a guest? And now, my friend, spare not; there is enough
and more." When they had well eaten, Ralph said to his wife, "Now,
Gill, send round the cup. I will drink to my friend, and he shall
drink to me." So the dame handed the cup, and the two drank to each
other. Then, supper being ended, they sat by the fire, and the
Charcoal-burner told many merry tales. When it grew late, he said to
the King, "Tell me now where you live." "I live at Court," said he,
"where I have an office with the Queen." "And what is your office?"
"I am gentleman of the Queen's bed-chamber." "And what is your
name?" "My name is Wymond; Wymond of the Wardrobe they call me. And
now, if you will come to Court, I can doubtless serve you, for I will
see that you have a good sale for your fuel." Said Ralph, "I know
not where the Court of which you speak may be." But Charles urged
him, saying that the King and Queen would be in Paris to spend
Yuletide together, and that there would be much merrymaking, and that
without doubt he would sell his fuel to great advantage. "You seem
to talk reason," said Ralph, "I will come. And now let us have
another cup, and so to bed." So the collier and the dame led him to
another chamber, where there was a bed handsomely furnished, and
closed in with curtains. When they saw that he was well served and
had all that he needed, they bade him good-night, and the King
thanked them for their courtesy.
The next day as soon as it was light, the King rose from the bed and
dressed himself without help, for, indeed, he had neither valet nor
squire. Then his palfrey was brought to him, which when he had
mounted, he called to Ralph, where he lay, for he would take his
leave in friendly fashion, as was fitting in one that had had such
good cheer. When the churl was roused, he said to the King, "Now
tarry awhile till this evil weather be ended." "Nay," answered the
King, "I must needs to my work and office; Yuletide is now at hand,
and he that is found wanting will be greatly blamed. And now call
thy good wife that I may pay her for the shelter and good cheer that
I have had." "Nay," cried Ralph, "that shall never be; to think that
I should take pay for sheltering one that is of the Court of the King
Charles!" "So be it," answered the King; "but at least if you will
not take pay, come to the Court with a load of fuel as soon as may
be; I warrant that if you will do so, you will make good profit of
your goods." "That will I," answered Ralph. "I would fain see how
coals sell at court. And now tell me your name once more, lest I
forget it."
Then the King rode away, nor had he travelled long when Roland and
Oliver, with a thousand men after them, met him. They had come forth
to search for him, and right glad were they to find him. So they
turned their horses' heads and journeyed back to Paris. When they
were near the town, Turpin the Archbishop came forth from the gates
to meet them with a great company of bishops and priests and others
giving thanks to God that their lord the King was come again to
Paris. And when they had come to Paris, they went to the Church of
St. Denis, where there was service. And after service they went to
the Palace, and kept their Yule feast with much mirth and plenty of
good things. For one-and-twenty days did they feast. Never had such
a Yuletide been kept in the land of France.
CHAPTER XIII
HOW RALPH WENT TO COURT
The next day, Ralph, having thought much on what he had undertaken,
loaded his mare, as he was wont to do, with two panniers full of
coals, and made ready to start on his journey to the court. "This is
not of my counsel," said Gillian his wife; "this journey will not be
to your profit. Remember the shrewd blow that you dealt him. Keep
from the Court, say I." "Nay, Gill," said the Charcoal-burner, "I
must have my way. I promised that I would go, and go I will, whether
my going be for profit or for harm." So he loaded the panniers and
went his way to the Court.
Meanwhile King Charles had not forgotten the matter. He called
Roland to him, for, indeed, there was no man whom he trusted more,
and said to him, "To-morrow morning take your horse and your harness,
and watch well the road by which we went on the day that I was lost,
and if you see anyone coming this way, whatever his errand may be,
bring him with you to this place, and take care that he sees no one
before he sees me."
Roland wondered much what the King might mean, for it seemed a
strange thing that on the very day of Yuletide, when a man should
rest, he should be sent on such an errand. Nevertheless he took his
horse and his harness and rode forth early in the morning, and
watched the roads as he had been commanded. For a long time he saw
nothing either far or near; but a little past midday he saw the
Charcoal-burner come driving his mare before him with two panniers
filled with coals. The sight pleased him well; so he rode up to him
with all the speed that he could. The man saluted him courteously,
and Roland, in his turn, also saluted him. Their greetings ended, he
said to the man, "Come now to the King; let nothing hinder you."
"Nay," said Ralph, "I am not so foolish. This is a jest, Sir Knight,
and it is ill courtesy for a knight to jest with a common man. There
be many men better than I that come and go to Paris, and the King has
no thought of them, whether it be morning or night. If you are in
mind to trick me, I can hold my own, for all that I am ill-clad."
"This is but foolishness," said Roland, "the King has straightly
commanded that you should be brought to him." "Nay," answered Ralph,
"I am on my way, according to promise made to one Wymond, and to him
I will go and to none other." "Have done with your Wymond," cried
Roland, "I must take you to the King as the King has commanded."
So they wrangled a long time, and still the churl was firmly set that
he would go to Wymond and to none other. "And where dwells this
Wymond of yours?" said Roland. "He dwells with the Queen at Paris,
if his tale be true." "If that be so," answered Roland, "seeing that
I know well the Queen and her ladies, and you are on your way to
them, I will trust to your going. Only you must give me a pledge
that this is truly your purpose." "Nay," said the Charcoal-burner,
"I will pledge you no pledge. And as for you, get you out of my way,
or it will be the worse for you."
Roland said to himself, "Now this is but folly to continue any longer
with this fellow." And he took his leave of the man full pleasantly.
But Ralph liked not such ways; for he thought that this knight that
was so gaily clad had him in scorn. "Come hither, Sir Knight,
to-morrow when we can be alone together, you and I; surely you shall
see how I will deal with you."
Then Roland rode back to the King. By this time Mass was ended, and
the King had put on his robes. "You are well come, Sir Roland," said
he, "have you done my errand?" "Sire," answered Sir Roland, "I went
as you gave me commandment, and watched the ways, but saw no man, but
one only." "And who was this one?" asked the King. "He," said
Roland, "was but a churl that had with him two panniers of coal."
"Why did you not bring this said churl to me, as I bid you? It may
be you durst not."
Roland saw that the King was wroth, and was not a little glad to go
forth from his presence. Going forth he met a porter, "Whither go
you, lazy loon?" said he. Said the porter, "There is one at the
gate, a churl that has a mare and two panniers of coals, and he
clamours to be let in at the gate." "Whom does he want?" said
Roland. The porter answered, "He asks for one Wymond." Then Roland
said, "Go back to your place, porter, and open the gate and bid him
enter. But say that it does not lie within your office to go to this
Wymond, but that he must himself seek him."
So the porter went back to the gate and opened it, saying to the
Charcoal-burner, "Enter, man; but I have no leisure to seek for this
Wymond for whom you ask. You must seek him yourself." Said Ralph,
"If you will not seek the man, I must needs do it myself; see you
then that no harm come to the mare and the coals, and I will look for
Wymond, for certainly it was he that bade me come hither."
[Illustration: RALPH IN THE PALACE OF CHARLEMAGNE.]
So the Charcoal-burner went his way through the palace asking for
Wymond. There was not one that knew the man, or had so much as heard
the name. They seemed to Ralph to lack courtesy; nevertheless he
would not cease from his quest, nor was there any one of whom he
failed to inquire. After he had passed through many chambers he came
to one that was more splendid than all that he had seen before. It
was a great hall finely painted and hung about with tapestries, and
there the King sate at dinner in great state. On the table were many
dainties, and there was a store of dishes, both silver and gold, and
many other adornments. "Here is royalty enough," cried Ralph. "If I
could only have speech with Wymond, I would away, for this methinks
is no place for a simple man." And still he went on. Many sought to
put him back, for he seemed to press on in an unmannerly fashion; but
he was a stalwart man that gave as much as he took.
At last, after not a little trouble, he got sight of the King, where
he sat in state at the table. "See," he cried, "that is Wymond,
yonder, the man whom I seek. Well do I know him, though, indeed, he
is otherwise clad than when I last saw him. Now he is in cloth of
gold. Truly he must be some greater man than he said. Alas, that I
have been wiled hither. Truly this man has beguiled me." When the
King heard this he laughed.
Ralph looked about on the company that sat with the King, for many
worshipful men were there. But when he saw the Queen, then he was
greatly troubled. "Lady," he said, "I am sorely troubled to see your
fine attire, so splendid is it. Now if I can but escape hence this
day, nothing in the whole world shall bring me hither again."
And now, dinner being over, the King rose from the table; and he told
before the whole company how he had fared with the Charcoal-burner.
The churl quaked as he heard the tale. And he said, "Would I were on
the moor again this very hour, and the King alone, or any one of his
knights, be he the bravest and strongest of them all."
Then the lords laughed aloud. Some, however, were angry, and would
have had the man hanged. "What is this churl," said they, "that he
should so misuse the King?" But Charles would have none of such
doings. "He is a stalwart man, and can strike a hard blow. Heaven
forbid that I should harm him. Rather will I make him a knight." So
he dubbed Ralph the Charcoal-burner a knight, and gave him a revenue
of £300 by the year, and "the next fee in France that shall come into
my hands, that," said he, "will I give you. But now you must win
your spurs." So the King gave him his armour and arms, and sixty
squires of good degree to be his company. And Ralph was in after
time a very perfect, noble knight, and did good service to the King.
CHAPTER XIV
HOW FIERABRAS DEFIED KING CHARLES
Balan, who was admiral of the Moors in Spain, had a son, Fierabras by
name, who was the most marvellous giant that ever was born of woman.
There was no man that could be matched with him for height, and
bigness of limb, and strength of body. This Fierabras was King of
Alexandria, and ruled the whole land of Babylon from the Red Sea
eastwards. Russia also he possessed, and Cologne; he was lord,
moreover, of Jerusalem, and had possession of the Sepulchre of our
Lord. It happened on a certain day that this man came riding
furiously to the camp where King Charles lay with his army, and asked
that some one should come forth and fight with him. No man answering
him or coming forth, he fell into a great rage and sware by his god
Mahomet that he would not depart from the place till he should have
done battle with some Christian man; but still no one came forth to
him. Then he cried with a very loud and terrible voice, "King of
Paris, send out to me your strongest and bravest knight, be he
Roland, or Oliver, or Thierry, or Ogier the Dane, that he may fight
with me. Nay, and if you will send out against me six or seven of
your strongest knights, I swear by my god Mahomet that I will not
refuse to fight with them all. But if you will not send out any man,
then I will assuredly assail your camp before nightfall this very
day, and strike off your head, and lead away Roland and Oliver as
prisoners. You have come into this my land without cause, and verily
you shall depart without honour."
When he had thus spoken he lay down under a tree, and having tied his
horse to one of the boughs, took off his armour. This done, he cried
to the King, "Send now Roland or Oliver to fight with me. And if
these dare not come alone then let two others come together with
them; and if the four be afraid let six come. Ten kings have I slain
already in single combat; there was not one of them, for all that
they were mighty men of valour, that could stand against me."
When King Charles heard these threatenings and challenges he said to
Richard of Normandy, "Who is this knight that speaks so boldly?"
Duke Richard answered, "This, my lord King, is the strongest of all
men born of women, and he is persuaded that there is no king in the
whole world that is a match for him."
"For all that," said the king, "I will find one of my knights that
shall encounter him. But tell me his name."
"His name," answered Duke Richard, "is Fierabras. He is an infidel,
and has done much harm to Christian men. For he slew our lord the
Pope, and hanged many holy men and women, and to this day he holds
possession of the holy Sepulchre of our Lord."
"I am the more firmly resolved," said the King, "hearing what you
say, that one of my knights shall meet him." Thereupon he turned to
Roland and said, "I pray you, dear nephew, go forth and meet this
Turk in battle."
But Roland answered him, "Not so, fair uncle; why should I do your
bidding in this matter? Do you bear in mind what happened but
yesterday, when we were so near to being taken by the heathen, how
they fell upon us with fifty thousand men and how we the younger
knights bore the burden and brunt of the day and suffered many
grievous wounds, so that Oliver my comrade was brought near to death,
and indeed, but for your help, we had all perished? And do you
remember further how last night, when we were resting in our tents,
you, being full of wine, declared stoutly that your old knights would
have borne themselves better than we of the younger sort had done?
Now it shall be seen how these said old knights shall stand up
against this heathen man, for indeed of the younger no one will go
forth against him."
When the King heard this he smote Roland his nephew in the face with
his gauntlet so sharply that the blood gushed out abundantly.
Thereupon Roland drew his sword and would have smitten his uncle had
he not been held by the bystanders. And the King cried, "Now, this
is a most monstrous thing for any man, much more a kinsman. Seize
him, for he shall die the death for this wickedness." But when the
courtiers made as if to lay hands upon him Roland cried, "Now, if any
man touch me I will cleave his head in two." Nor did any man dare to
come near him. But Ogier the Dane said, "Now, Roland, you did ill to
threaten your uncle, whom you are bound to honour above all men."
"It is true," answered Roland. "I was greatly provoked; nevertheless
I repent of my deed."
The King said to the Peers of France, "I am much troubled in this
matter. First Roland my nephew, that should have been zealous to
help me, threatens to slay me, and then there is no man that is
willing to do battle with this pagan."
"Take courage, my lord King," said the Duke Naymes, "some one will be
found to do you this service." But the King refused to be comforted.
Now Oliver lay sick in bed, for he had been sorely wounded in battle.
But when he heard how the King and Roland had fallen out, and how
Fierabras had defied the King and his army, and no man had gone forth
to meet him, he straightway rose from his bed and began to stretch
and try himself to see whether by any means he could bear his armour.
In so doing he made his wounds bleed afresh. But when he had bound
them again as best he could, he said to Garin his squire, "Come,
bring me my arms, for I will go out and meet this pagan." Said Garin
the squire, "Now, my lord Oliver, have pity on yourself. You will
compass your own death." Oliver answered, "Do my bidding, for this
is an occasion of honour that no man should miss." So Oliver put on
his armour, Garin helping him. This done, he took his sword,
Hautclere by name, which he loved above all things. Then they
brought him Ferraunt his horse, ready saddled and bridled. And
Oliver leapt lightly into the saddle without so much as touching it,
and put his shield into place, and took a spear very long and sharply
pointed. Then he struck his horse with his spurs, and Ferraunt leapt
up under him. It was a noble sight to see, so gallant was the knight
and so brave the steed.
Oliver rode up to the King's tent and saluted him, saying, "My lord,
I have served you faithfully for these three years past without
reward or wages. I pray you, therefore, that you give me this day
the thing I shall desire of you." The King answered, "Most noble
Earl, I will do this with a good will. There is not in this land of
France a city or town or castle that I will not give you at your
desire." But Oliver said, "My lord King, I ask neither towns nor
castles, but only this--that you suffer me to do battle with this
pagan."
When the other knights heard this they were not a little shamed that
a wounded man should take up the challenge, while they themselves
held back. "What is this," they said, "that Oliver, who was hurt
well-nigh to death, would now go forth to battle!" As for the King,
he said, "Now, Oliver, you have surely lost your wits. You know that
you have been sorely wounded, and yet you will run into a worse
danger. Go back to your bed and rest; assuredly I will not suffer
you to do battle with this pagan."
Then Ganelon, who was afterwards the traitor, rose up in his place
and said, "Sir, this is against the custom of France that you should
deny Oliver his request." The King was very angry and said,
"Ganelon, you are not well disposed in this matter. If this be as
you say, then Oliver shall fight with this pagan, and if he fight,
then he can hardly escape death. But mark you this: I swear by my
faith that if he be slain or taken in this battle, then not all the
gold in the world can save you from a shameful death; aye, and all
your house shall perish with you."
"Sir King," said Ganelon, "may God and Our Lady keep me!" but to
himself he said secretly, "Now God forbid that Oliver should come
back safe. Rather may this pagan smite off his head!" But when King
Charles saw that he could not hinder Oliver from doing battle with
Fierabras, he said, "Now may God be with you, and help you, and bring
you back with joy!" and he reached to him his glove, which Oliver
took with much pleasantness and humility.
But Reyner, that was father to Oliver, when he saw his son ready to
go forth, came to the King, and knelt down at his feet, and cried in
sore trouble, "Now, my lord King, have pity on my son and me. He is
young and presumptuous, full of pride and ambition, but so sorely
wounded that he cannot fight; forbid him, therefore, to go forth."
But the King said to Reyner, "What I have given I may not withdraw."
Then Oliver stood up and spake with a loud voice, "Sir King and all
you lords of France, if I have offended any man in word or deed, I
pray him to forgive me." There was not a man but wept to hear these
words. The King himself wept, and commended him to the keeping of
God.
Oliver rode forth and came to the tree where Fierabras lay at ease
and unarmed. The giant did not so much as look at him, but turned
away his head, for he despised Oliver as being but little of stature
in comparison with himself. Oliver said to him, "Awake, you have
called me many times this day; lo! now I have come. And first tell
me your name." Fierabras answered him, "I am Fierabras, of
Alexandria. It was I that destroyed the city of Rome and slew the
Pope, and carried away the holy things. And Jerusalem is mine, and
the place where, as you say, your God is buried."
Oliver said, "If these things are true, it is time that you should
suffer due punishment for your misdeeds. But enough of talking.
Make ready and arm yourself, or else, by the God in whom I believe, I
will smite you where you lie!" When Fierabras heard him speak so
fiercely, he began to laugh, and said, "You are a bold talker, but
first tell me who you are, and of what rank." Oliver answered,
"Before night come, pagan, you shall know full well who I am. But
now hear this: my lord the King has sent this message by my mouth:
'Renounce Mahomet your God, and all other idols, and believe in the
true God that made heaven and earth and all that is therein.
Meanwhile take your choice of two things: either depart out of this
country, taking nothing with you, or stand forth and fight with me.'"
Fierabras said, "Fellow, you are not able to meet me, even were I
without arms. But tell me now thy name and lineage." Oliver
answered, "My name is Garin, and I am a poor knight; King Charles has
sent me to do battle with you; make ready, therefore, for battle."
But Fierabras would not consent. "Now tell me, Sir Garin," said he,
"why Roland, or Oliver, or Ogier the Dane, who are all, men say, of
high renown, have not come out against me." "They have not come,"
answered Oliver, "because they think too meanly of you."
This he said with such vehemence that his wounds opened again. When
Fierabras saw the blood he said, "Are you perchance wounded, Sir
Garin?" "Not I," answered Oliver; "this blood that you see comes
from my horse where I spurred him." But Fierabras saw that the blood
was not from the horse and said: "You speak no truth when you say
that you are not hurt. This is no horse's blood but of your own body
that I see. Now drink of this flagon of balm that I took from the
city of Jerusalem. When you have drunken you shall be whole in body,
and then you shall be fit to defend yourself in battle." But Oliver
would have none of it. "This," said he, "is but folly."
CHAPTER XV
HOW OLIVER FOUGHT WITH FIERABRAS
Fierabras, seeing that he must needs fight, said to Oliver, "Come
now, help me to arm myself." Said Oliver, "Can I trust you?" "Yea,"
answered Fierabras, "that can you: never have I been traitor to any
man, nor ever will." So Oliver armed him; he helped him to don first
a suit of leather of Arabia and after this a coat and habergeon of
steel, and an helmet richly garnished with jewels for his head. Was
ever such courtesy in this world, Oliver helping this pagan to arm,
whom, being unarmed, he might full easily have slain, and the pagan
having pity upon Oliver as not being his match in fighting and all
the more when he saw that he had been wounded? Would that there were
more of such courtesy between Christian men!
When he was armed, Fierabras took the three swords that he had,
Pleasance and Baptism and Grabon, all being of so fine a temper that
there was no armour made but they could break through it. The three
were made by one of three brothers; another of these three made three
more, of which Durendal, the sword of Roland, was the most famous;
and yet another brother also made three, of which it suffices to name
Hautclere that was the sword of Oliver, and Joyous that was one of
the chief treasures of King Charles. On his shield he had the image
of his god, Apollyon to wit, to whom when he had commended himself,
he yet once again besought Oliver to depart. And when Oliver had
again refused, saying that he trusted to prevail by the help of his
God, Fierabras said to him, "Now as you are a Christian man, I adjure
you by the font wherein you were baptized and by the cross to which
your God was nailed, to tell me truly your name and lineage."
Oliver answered, "You could not have adjured me by greater things
than this same font and cross; know therefore that I am Oliver, the
son of Reyner, close comrade of Roland, and one of the Twelve Peers
of France."
Then said Fierabras, "I knew that you were no poor and unknown
knight, but a great warrior and a famous, so great was your courage.
But you are wounded, and it would be dishonour to me should I
overcome you by means of your weakness." But Oliver answered him
fiercely, "Enough of these idle words; when we come to fight together
you shall see that I am no dead man. Nevertheless as you are a
courteous knight, I will require you once again to forsake Mahomet
and your false gods, and submit yourself to be baptized. So shall
you have Roland and King Charles for your friends." "Nay," said
Fierabras, "but this is folly. Let us address ourselves to battle
without more delay."
Then did these two champions lay their spears in rest and make ready
to charge. When the men of France saw this they were in great fear
lest some mischance should befall Oliver; as for the King, he hid his
face in his mantle and kneeling before the crucifix embraced it,
weeping the while, and crying, "O Lord, I beseech Thee keep Oliver
and suffer not the Christian faith to be dishonoured by his
downfall." Meanwhile the two warriors met in the shock of battle,
and that so fiercely that the sparks flew from their spearheads when
they smote on the shields, and that the shafts of both were broken.
The reins dropped from their hands, and they were both so astonied
that they scarce knew where they were. But then coming to themselves
they drew each man his sword. And first Oliver with Hautclere smote
Fierabras so fiercely on the helmet that he shore off a great portion
of it, and the jewels wherewith it was garnished fell to the ground.
Nor was the force of the blow yet spent: it reached the giant's
shoulder, but the cuirass which was of stout leather of Cappadocia,
stayed it; nevertheless the giant's feet were thrust out of the
stirrups, and he came very near to being overthrown. And all the men
of France cried with one voice, "Blessed Mary, what a mighty stroke
has Oliver dealt to this pagan!" "'Tis true," said Roland, "would I
were with him this day!" Then Fierabras, in his turn, smote Oliver
with his sword Pleasance on the helmet. From the helmet it glanced
down and grievously wounded the Christian's horse. Then Oliver was
not a little dismayed, and commended himself to God and the Virgin.
Which, when Fierabras heard, he said, "I am ill content to have so
hurt you. Hardly shall you see the sun set this day, for already you
grow faint. But this has befallen you because you are already
wounded. Be wise therefore and leave the battle while there is yet
time." But Oliver would have none of such counsel. Therefore they
fell to fighting again, and this so fiercely that the armour of the
two of them was well-nigh broken to pieces.
When the King saw this, and perceived that Oliver was in no little
danger, he was greatly troubled. He prayed aloud, saying, "O Lord
God, now keep the valiant Oliver, that he be not slain or taken.
Verily, if aught happen to him, I swear by my father's soul that I
will burn every monastery and church and altar in the land." But the
Duke Naymes rebuked the King, saying, "Speak not thus, Sir King.
Rather pray to God that of His goodness He will help Oliver." And
the King said, "You are right; I spake foolishly."
Meanwhile the two champions continued to fight fiercely, more
fiercely than befitted prudent or experienced warriors. Oliver
especially was so carried out of himself that his hand grew numb with
the frequency of his blows, and at last his sword flew out of his
hand. Straightway he ran to regain it, putting his shield over his
head to cover himself from the enemy's blows. But this did not avail
him, for Fierabras smote twice on the shield, and so mightily that he
brake it into pieces, and the breastplate under it also. And Oliver
durst not go forward to take up his sword, for he feared greatly what
the giant might do to him. When the men of France saw in what
straits he was, they made as if they would arm themselves and go to
his help. But this King Charles would not suffer. "Not so," said
he; "God can save him and maintain him in the right, and He will do
so."
Then the others abode in their place. But now Fierabras began to
jeer and scoff at Oliver, "Now I know that you are vanquished, for
you dare not put out your hand to take your sword for fear of me; no,
you would not stoop to the ground to gain the wealth of the whole
world. Now hearken to me: if you will deny your faith and declare
that your God is no god, and believe in Mahomet, then I will give you
my sister Floripas in marriage, than whom there is no fairer maid
upon earth, and we two will conquer France or ever this year shall
have passed, and I will make you King of one-half of this realm."
Oliver answered, "Now God forbid that I should listen to such folly.
These your gods are no gods at all, and have no goodness or
strength." Fierabras said, "I see that you are firmly set in your
mind not to do these things. Now there was never man on earth who
has given me such trouble of mind as have you. But now take up your
sword; for without it you can have no more strength in battle than a
woman." "That will I not do," answered Oliver. "I will not take my
sword by your courtesy. My life and death are with God; and I will
win my sword by fair fight or not at all."
Thereupon Fierabras came against Oliver, having his sword Pleasance
in his hand. Then was Oliver in a great strait, for he had no sword,
and his shield was cleft in twain, and his armour grievously broken.
But God had mercy upon him, and put it in his head to look about him.
And looking he saw the horse of Fierabras, and on the saddle two
swords, Baptism and Grabon. Whereupon he made haste and laid hold on
the sword Baptism. And when he had possessed himself of it, he said,
"King of Alexandria, now the time of reckoning has come. See, I have
one of your swords; you must take good care lest it be your
destruction." When Fierabras saw what Oliver had done, he changed
colour and said, "O Baptism, my good sword, what is this? Never did
better weapon hang by my side or by the side of any man living upon
earth." Then he said to Oliver, "You are, I well know, an honourable
knight. Come, now, take your own sword and give to me that which is
mine." "Not so," answered Oliver; "I will make no agreement with
you, save this: that I will do my best to slay you, and you shall do
the same with me."
And when he had said this, Oliver ran at Fierabras as fiercely as a
lion that leaps upon its prey. Nor was Fierabras slow to meet him.
Indeed, he smote him so stoutly that he brake through his helmet,
wounding the knight's head. Seeing this he cried, "Now you are
wounded, Sir Oliver. Never more shall you see King Charles or
Roland; so shall I at last have my desire." But Oliver answered, "Be
not so proud nor boast overmuch. I have a good confidence that I
shall either slay you or conquer you." Then he made a feint to
strike the pagan on the head; and Fierabras, raising his shield over
high to cover himself from the blow, left his side unguarded, which
Oliver, quickly perceiving, drove his sword with all his might into
the pagan's side. And the man fell with the blow, so mighty was it,
for Oliver dealt it with all his strength that so he might put an end
to the fight.
CHAPTER XVI
HOW OLIVER AND OTHERS WERE TAKEN PRISONERS
Fierabras, knowing himself to be vanquished, cried to Oliver, "I
crave your mercy, noble knight, and I pray that I may be baptized;
for how can I refuse to believe in the God by whose help you have now
overcome me? Therefore I surrender myself to you, and beg for your
protection." When Oliver heard him speak and saw in what a strait he
was, he had great compassion on him, and laid him under a tree, and
so bound up his wounds that he staunched the bleeding. When he had
done this, Fierabras said, "Now, noble sir, carry me away from this
place, for of my own strength I cannot go." Oliver answered. "Nay,
but you are of so great a weight that I may not take you." Then said
the giant again, "Take me to the King, for verily I am very near my
end. And if you cannot bear me, then take my horse and mount
thereon, and lay me across the saddle, and put my sword by thy side.
And mark this: there lie in wait in that wood yonder 40,000
men--soldiers of mine, whom I set there this very day, bidding them
there abide till I should return from the battle." Oliver was
ill-content with these words; nevertheless he took the giant and laid
him across the saddle of his horse, and went his way. Then there
charged from the wood a great host of pagans, among whom was a
certain Brullant, and another, Sortybrant by name.
When Oliver saw these he struck his spurs into his horse, but the
beast was so heavily burdened that he could not go so fast as the
enemy pursued. When the men of France saw this, they made all haste
to go to the help of Oliver, Roland first of all, and Richard of
Normandy, and Guy of Burgundy, and Duke Thierry, and as was meet,
Oliver's own father, Duke Reyner. Meanwhile Brullant, having
outstripped his companions, came near, for he rode a horse that was
as swift as a greyhound. Then Oliver said to Fierabras, "Now, Sir
King, I must needs put you down, and this I do with much discontent.
But you see that I am in a great strait, for if these men overtake me
then shall I of a certainty be slain, and King Charles will never see
me more." Fierabras answered, "Noble Oliver, will you now leave me?
Surely I shall be in very evil case if you so desert me." Oliver
said, "Nay, but I will not leave you, and will fight for you with all
my strength to the very end." So saying he put upon himself the
pagan's breastplate, which was in better case than his own, and took
his sword Hautclere in his hand, and turned himself to meet the
enemy. Thereupon came Brullant the Saracen riding fiercely at him,
and struck him in the breast with his spear, so that the shaft brake;
but Oliver was wounded. When Fierabras saw this he said, "Sir
Oliver, you have done enough for me; now take thought for yourself.
But lay me first somewhere out of the way, if it may be." So Oliver
laid him under a tree out of the way. And when he had done this he
saw a great multitude of Saracens about him on every side. Seeing,
therefore, that there was no way for him to escape, he prayed to God
that it might be granted to him not to die at that time, but rather
to live till he should come to his end in company with Roland his
comrade. After this he drew Hautclere his sword, and smote the first
man that he encountered--he was the son of the greatest lord that was
in the army of the Saracens--and cleft his body to the breast, so
that he fell down dead. Whereupon Oliver took his shield, for his
own had been broken to pieces. This done he charged the enemy; one
of the leaders he slew at the first stroke, and not a few afterwards.
He bore himself right bravely, but it was not in mortal man to
prevail against such a host. First his horse was slain under him,
and though he rose again from the earth and stood upon his feet, and
dealt many mighty blows, slaying many, yet he was overcome by the
strength and number of the Saracens. His shield was broken in thirty
places, and his breastplate pierced through with darts, and his body
wounded many times. At the last, being overcome by weariness and
great bleeding, he fell to the ground. Then the Saracens took hold
of him as he lay, and bound him with cords, and blindfolded his eyes,
and setting him on a horse, so carried him away. All this time he
did not cease to cry out for help, calling by name on King Charles
and on Roland, who was his comrade. Nor did these turn a deaf ear to
his cries, but came with all haste to help him, if it might be. And
among them was Roland, and Ogier the Dane, and Guy of Burgundy, yes,
and King Charles himself. There was not one of them but slew a
Saracen, but Oliver they could not rescue, because they that had him
in charge fled with all speed, so that the men of France could not by
any means come up with them. Nor was this all the trouble, for many
of the Christians were slain, and others were taken prisoners, as
Gerard of Montdidier and Geoffrey Langevin. These the Saracens bound
to horses and carried away with all haste. When Charlemagne saw this
he was so angry that he well-nigh lost his wits. "Help! help!" he
cried to the men of France. "Will you not save your comrades? It
will be an ill day for France if these men are carried away into
captivity." Nor were Roland and his comrades slow to do the King's
bidding, for they spurred their horses, and pursued after the enemy,
seeking if by any means they might deliver the prisoners. And ever
Roland was in front, having his good sword Durendal in his hand.
Many blows did he deal with it, and few were they that were smitten
and yet lived. For the space of five miles they followed after the
Saracens, and still as they followed they slew, but nevertheless they
could not come up with Oliver and the rest of the prisoners, so
quickly did they who had them in charge carry them away. As for
Roland, though he swore that he would not turn back before he had
delivered his comrades from captivity, yet he was constrained to
depart from his purpose, for now the night began to fall, and no man
knew by which way he should go. So the King, seeing that there was
much danger lest the Saracens should lay an ambush for his army, bade
them halt and turn back to the camp. And this they did very
unwillingly.
As King Charles rode back, he found Fierabras lying under a tree much
spent with the bleeding of his wounds. When he saw him, he said, "I
have good cause to hate you, pagan that you are, for you are the
cause whereby many of my men have been slain and taken prisoners,
among them Oliver, than whom there is no one in the whole world
dearer to me."
When Fierabras heard these words, he sighed and said, "Most noble
King, I pray you of your mercy to pardon me and cause to be made a
Christian man, so that, if I should be healed of my wounds, I may do
all that is in me to advance the Christian faith, and to deliver the
Holy Sepulchre. And now I beseech you to order that I may be
baptized without delay."
When the King heard him speak in this fashion he felt a great
compassion for him, and bade his knights carry him to a convenient
lodging. And when the men of France saw of how great stature and
beauty he was, they marvelled much, for indeed, when he was without
his armour, there was no fairer man to be seen in all the world.
Then they sent in all haste for Turpin the Archbishop, who when he
was come baptized him in the name of Florin. Nevertheless he was
still called Fierabras to the day of his death. Then the King sent
his physicians and sages to search out his wounds, who having
examined him, when they found that he had not been hurt in any mortal
part, affirmed, that he would be whole again in the space of two
months.
CHAPTER XVII
HOW OLIVER AND HIS COMRADES FARED
The Saracens that had charge of Oliver and the other knights did not
halt till they came to a rich city, Aygremore by name. Being arrived
there they made a great braying of trumpets at the gate. Balan, who
was father to Fierabras, hearing this came to the gate, and seeing
there Brullant, said to him, "Tell me, Brullant, my friend, how you
have fared. Have you taken King Charles, and put his Peers to
flight?" Brullant answered, "I have no such tidings for you, Sir
Admiral. We have been discomfited by King Charles, and Fierabras
your son was overcome in single fight by one of the King's Barons,
and has been made a Christian man."
When the Admiral heard this, he was greatly troubled, and fell into a
swoon. Being recovered from this, he made a great complaint of his
ill-fortune, and lamented over his son, as one who never having been
vanquished before had now suffered defeat. And at last, so great was
his rage, he cried, "Now if this be true, and Fierabras my son is
lost to me, verily I will strike out the brains of this false god
Mahomet, who having promised me so much has fulfilled so little."
And he threw himself in an agony upon the ground.
After a while, his anger having now somewhat cooled, he said to
Brullant, "Tell me now, was Fierabras my son vanquished by one of
these knights whom I now see before me? If it be so, show the man to
me." So Brullant showed to him Oliver, and Balan was fain to admire
him, so tall he was and strong and fair. Nevertheless he cried,
"Bring him hither to me, and I will cut him to pieces." When the
others understood that it was his purpose to put Oliver to death,
they were greatly troubled. But Oliver comforted them saying, "We
are not in such ill case as you think. But mark this one thing that
I counsel you. Tell not your true names to the Admiral. If he once
knows that we are Peers of France, he will have no pity upon us, and
we shall die." But the Saracens knew not what he said. After this
Balan commanded that the prisoners should be brought before him,
having been first bound with cords and blindfolded. This being done,
he said to Oliver, "Tell me now your name and country, and mind that
you say nothing that is false."
Oliver answered, "I am a poor knight, Eugenes by name, born in
Lorraine, my father being a yeoman, and these my comrades whom you
see are poor knights also, and we have taken service with the King,
hoping thus to get advancement and reward." Balan was very wroth to
hear this. "I thought," he cried, "that I had five of the best and
bravest knights in France, and that having these I possessed, as it
were, the keys of France." And he said to his chamberlain, "Strip
these men of their raiment and bind them to that pillar yonder, and
bring me darts well pointed with iron that I may shoot at them for my
sport." But Brullant stood up and said, "Sir Admiral, I beseech you
to hear me; it is now eventide, and too late to do justice in proper
form; your lords and councillors also are not here; delay therefore
this matter to the morrow, when the thing shall be known and your
judgment better approved, for that these men rightly deserve such
punishment I do heartily believe. Consider also that King Charles
may be willing to give up Fierabras in exchange for these knights.
Wherefore you would do well to keep them without harm."
"This is good counsel," said the Admiral. "Send for Brutamont, and
let him take these men in charge." Now Brutamont was keeper of the
King's prison.
Then Brutamont thrust these French knights into the prison, which was
a dungeon so deep that no light could enter it. A horrible place it
was, in which were nourished serpents and toads and all manner of
venomous beasts, and there was a most evil stench in it. Also the
water of the sea flowed in when the tide was high, and at this time
it was so deep in the dungeon that it came up even to the shoulders
of the prisoners. As for Oliver the salt water made his wounds,
which were many and grievous, to smart beyond all bearing. He was
therefore in evil case, and most certainly had died but for Gerard of
Montdidier, who kept him up so that he should not drown. And indeed
they were all in great peril of drowning, and doubtless had so
perished, but that there were in the dungeon two pillars, fifteen
feet or thereabouts in height, upon which they climbed, lifting up
Oliver also, for of his own strength he could not have done it.
Loudly did he lament, crying out that his father Reyner should never
more see him alive. But Gerard comforted him, saying, "It is not for
a brave knight to complain. Let us rather trust in God.
Nevertheless I wish that we had each of us a good sword in his hand.
I vow to God that we would slay not a few score of Saracens before
they should put us again into this dungeon."
Now the Admiral had a daughter, Floripas by name, a very fair damsel,
and not yet married. She was of a reasonable stature, and as bright
as a rose in May. Her hair was like shining gold, and her eyes
bright as the eyes of a falcon, and the eyebrows above them fine and
straight, her nose shapely, her cheeks well rounded, fair as a
fleur-de-lys, but with delicate colour of rose; her mouth small and
delicate with a chin suitably fashioned, and her shoulders straight
and her bosom of a most dainty curve. She was clad in a robe of
purple broidered with gold, of noble aspect, and of such a virtue
that no one wearing it could be harmed by any poison. Such was
Floripas to behold. So fair was she, that if a man had fasted for
three days or four and should then look upon her, he should be as
well satisfied as with abundance of meat and drink.
The maiden hearing the complaints of the French knights felt a great
pity for them. So she went from her chamber to the hall, and twelve
maidens that waited upon her followed. And when she came to the hall
she found a great lamenting, and asking the cause she heard that her
brother Fierabras had been vanquished in battle and taken prisoner.
Thereupon she cried aloud, and wept bitterly, and all that were in
the hall wept with her.
After that the maiden's grief was somewhat spent, she sent for
Brutamont the jailer, and demanded of him who were these men that he
had in the dungeon. "Madam," said he, "they are French knights,
servants of King Charles, and they have wrought great harm to our
people, and done dishonour to our gods. This also they have added to
their crimes, that they have helped to slay Fierabras your brother.
One of them there is who is as seemly a man as ever I beheld; 'twas
he, I am told, that prevailed over your brother." Then said
Floripas, "Open now the dungeon, for I would fain know how they
fare." But Brutamont answered, "Not so, madam; the place is foul and
loathsome, and so dark that you could not see the men. Also your
father has strictly charged me that I should suffer no one to come
near to the prison, and least of all a woman, seeing that many are
deceived and shamed by women."
Floripas was very wroth to hear such words, "Thou evil beast!" said
she; "dost use such speech to me?" And she called her chamberlain
and bade him fetch her a staff. Which when he had brought, she smote
Brutamont the jailer so mighty a blow upon the head that he fell to
the ground a dead man.
Then Floripas bade them light a torch and open the door of the
prison. And when she saw the prisoners how they had climbed upon the
pillars, as has been told, she said, "Tell me now, my lords, who you
are and how you are named." Oliver answered, "Fair lady, we are men
of France, and knights of King Charles, and having been brought
hither have been put by the Admiral into this horrible dungeon.
Better had we been slain in battle than that we should rot in this
place!" Floripas, who for all that she was not a Christian woman,
was of great courtesy and compassion, said to them, "Now I promise
that I will take you out of this prison, only you must engage to do
what I demand of you." And Oliver said, "That will we do, madam,
right gladly. We are true men and faithful, nor have we ever been
aught else, nor will be. Give us arms in our hands, and set us where
we may fight with these Saracens. Verily they shall be ill content
with us."
"Now," answered Floripas, "methinks you boast overmuch. Here are you
in prison, and you boast yourself against them that are at liberty.
'Tis better for a man to be quiet than to talk so foolishly." Then
spake Gerard, "Lady, he that is so kept in prison will oft use light
words that he may forget his pain." Then Floripas said to Gerard,
"You excuse your fellow right courteously. I trow that you have a
flattering tongue wherewith to win a maiden's heart." "You speak
truly, lady," cried William the Scot; "you shall not find his peer
for three hundred miles and more."
After this Floripas sent her chamberlain to fetch a rope, which she
let down into the dungeon. When the prisoners saw it they put it
first round Oliver, and Floripas and her chamberlain drew him up out
of the water with no little labour. After him the others were drawn
up more easily. Having so rescued them, she took them by a secret
way into her own lodging, which was a very fair and spacious abode,
marvellously adorned with all manner of paintings, as of the sun and
the moon and all the host of heaven, with woods and mountains and
living creatures of all kinds, made, as some will have it, by the son
of Methuselah. This dwelling stood on a black rock, altogether
surrounded by the sea, and near to it was a garden of which the
flowers and fruits never failed. There were precious herbs also
which availed to cure all manner of sickness and maladies, save only
the malady of death.
Now Floripas had a governess, by name Maragonde. Maragonde said to
the maiden, "Madam, I know these Frenchmen well. That is Oliver, son
of Reyner, the same that has vanquished Fierabras your brother; that
yonder is Gerard of Montdidier, and this William the Scot. Now may
Mahomet send his curse upon me if I do not straightway tell your
father, the lord Admiral." When Floripas heard these words she
changed colour, being moved to much anger, which nevertheless she
hid. Then she called the woman to come to her where she stood by a
window; when she was come she struck her to the ground with a great
blow, and calling her servant, bade him throw her into the sea, for
she much feared her father and his malice. "Go now, spiteful
wretch," said Floripas when she saw Maragonde sink in the water, "You
have your reward."
This done, she greeted the Frenchmen right courteously, and when she
saw how Sir Oliver was covered with blood, she gave him a draught of
a certain herb that is named Mandegloire, which when he had drunk he
was immediately made whole. Then the knights were refreshed with
baths and were furnished with goodly apparel, and had entertainment
of meat and drink. And when they were satisfied, she said to them,
"My lords, I know full well who you are, that this, for instance, is
Sir Oliver who vanquished Fierabras my brother; yet I have showed you
this great kindness, nor this without danger to myself. Now there is
a certain knight in France whom I have long loved, Guy of Burgundy by
name, he is the goodliest man that ever I saw, and is of the kindred
of Charlemagne and of Roland. I saw him at Rome when my father the
Admiral took that city, and then and there gave him my heart, when he
had struck down to the earth a certain Lucifer that was chief of the
pagan warriors. For the sake of this Guy I will become a Christian,
and if I may not have him to my husband, I will never marry. Now
therefore I beg that you will help me in this matter." Then said
Gerard of Montdidier, "Madam, give us arms, and we will put the
Saracens to flight." But Floripas was prudent and said, "Rest
awhile, my friends, for it will need much counsel before it can be
seen what you had best do."
CHAPTER XVIII
OF THE BRIDGE OF MANTRYBLE
Duke Reyner could neither eat nor drink for the grief that he had
about his son; and when he could no longer endure this trouble, he
came to King Charles and made his complaint. "Oh, sir," he said, "I
am like to die of grief for my dear son Oliver. If I have no tidings
of him then I must needs perish, or go myself to seek him." The King
when he heard these words was full of pity, and sent for Roland, and
said to him, "Fair nephew, you must go on the morrow to Aygremore,
and get speech of Balan, and say to him, and that full plainly, that
he must straightway deliver up the holy things that he has, and also
set free those my knights that he has in keeping. And if he refuse
to do these things, then tell him that I will most surely hang him as
a thief." To this Roland answered, "Fair king and uncle, send me on
no such errand, for if you do, you will never see me more." Then
spake the Duke Naymes, "Take heed, Sire, what you do. You know what
a valiant man is your nephew Roland. If you send him, he will return
no more." Said King Charles, "Then you shall go with him, bearing
the letters that I shall send to the Admiral." And then others of
the Peers, as Duke Thierry and Ogier the Dane, stood up in their
place, and said the same thing, then the King swore a great oath,
even by the eyes in his head, that they also should go. So he did to
six of the Peers. Last of all he spied Guy of Burgundy and said to
him, "You are my cousin and nearest to me in blood, you shall be the
seventh with these six to take my message to Balan the Admiral. You
shall say to him that I purpose to baptize him, that he holds of me
his whole kingdom, and that he must deliver up to me the holy
things." Said Guy of Burgundy, "My lord, I pray you send me not on
this errand, for if you will send me I am assured that you will never
see me again." But the King took no heed. On the morrow the seven
came and stood before him and said, "We crave your leave to depart;
if we have done wrong to any in this company we pray his pardon, and
if any have wronged us, him we pardon." At these words all that were
there began to weep for pity. The King said, "Well beloved, I
commend you to God; may He have you in His keeping!" Then they went
their way.
Meanwhile in Aygremore the Admiral was in great trouble and doubt.
He sent, therefore, for fifteen Kings of the Saracens, that they
might advise him. When they were come the fiercest of them, Maradas
by name, said, "Sir Admiral, why have you sent for us?" Balan
answered, "I will tell you truly: Charlemagne is on his way hither.
He says that I hold my kingdom of him. Now he were better advised to
sit still and rest his old body, and pray in his churches, and eat
such food as he has. Go you, therefore, and demand of him my son
Fierabras, and bid him do homage for his kingdom, or I will come with
one hundred thousand men, and constrain him." Maradas liked not the
matter, but said that he would go. So did the others also; so they
armed themselves and departed.
So these two companies both went their way, and in no long while
approached one to the other. And first Duke Naymes espied the
Saracens, and said, "See now these Saracens are coming against us
with a great force; advise what we shall do." Roland said: "Be in no
haste, my lords. There be but twenty of them, or, at the most
thirty; let us ride straight against them," and this advice seemed
good to them all.
After this Maradas rode out from the company of the Saracens, and
said, "It is an ill fortune for you, being Christian men, that you
have met with us." "That is foolishly said," answered Duke Naymes.
"We come from King Charles bearing a message to Balan your master."
Maradas said again: "For all that you are in danger. Will any one
joust with me?" "That will I," said Duke Naymes. "You are
overbold," answered Maradas. "I would willingly fight with ten such
as you. Hear you now, all of you; let no one move from his place; I
will overcome you all, and give you to my lord the Admiral."
Roland, when he heard these words, was well-nigh beside himself with
anger, and cried, "Before the sun set, thou shalt see what we can
do." Then he charged at Maradas in great fury, and Maradas charged
also. Each brake the corselet of the other with his spear's point;
but Roland dealt Maradas such a blow that he brake his helmet from
off his head, and then, quickly recovering himself, smote him on his
bare skull and cleft it to the brain, so that he fell down dead.
Then the other knights fell upon the rest of the Saracens and slew
them, one only escaping, who did not draw rein till he came to the
Admiral. Said the Admiral, "You have come back with good speed.
What have you done?" And the King that had escaped answered, "It has
gone very ill with us; we encountered seven Knights of France, who
said they were King Charles's men. They ran upon us, and had such
mastery over us that I only escaped to tell the tale." When the
Admiral heard, he well-nigh died of grief and rage.
After the battle with the Saracens Roland and his fellows rested
awhile in a meadow that was nigh at hand. And the Duke Naymes said,
"It were well that we should return to King Charles and tell him how
we have fared. I take it he will be well pleased." But Roland said,
"Do you talk of returning, Sir Duke? So long as I have my good sword
Durendal in my hand I will not return. We will do our message to the
Admiral as the King commanded. Come now, let us take each one a head
of a pagan in his hand and present them to the Admiral." "You are
out of your wits, Sir Roland," said the Duke Naymes; "if we do so, we
shall surely be all slain." But the others were of Roland's opinion;
therefore each man took a head of a pagan in his hand, and they went
their way.
So they journeyed till they came to the Bridge Mantryble. When the
Duke Naymes saw the bridge, he said, "This is Mantryble, and on the
other side of the bridge lies the town of Aygremore, where we shall
find the Admiral." Then said Ogier the Dane, "We must first pass the
bridge, and it is a very dangerous place. There are in it thirty
arches, and on it are great towers, and the walls are so wide that
ten knights can ride abreast upon them. And in the midst of it is a
great drawbridge, which is let down and pulled up with ten chains of
iron. And under the bridge there is a river, which they call Flagot.
This river flows as fast as a bolt flies out of a crossbow; so fierce
is the current that no boat or galley can by any means cross over it.
And the Keeper of the bridge is a giant, Gallafer by name, a very
terrible monster to behold. He is armed with an axe of steel with
which to smite down any one that may presume to pass over the bridge
against his will."
Then said Roland, "Do not trouble yourselves, my lords. As long as
it shall please God to keep me, and I have Durendal in my hand, I
care not one penny for any pagan, be he giant or other. This porter
I will slay, if he seek to hinder me." But Duke Naymes said to Sir
Roland, "This is foolish talk; it is not wise to give one blow and to
receive a score. Leave the matter to me, and I will deal so with the
porter, that he will let us pass over the bridge without any trouble."
So when they came to the bridge, the Duke Naymes rode before them.
He was an old man, and his hair was white, so that it became him to
ride first. The porter said to him, "Whither do you go with this
company, and what is your errand?" The Duke answered, "We are
messengers from King Charles, and we go to Aygremore with a message
to Balan the Admiral. He has not driven all evil men out of his
country, for on our way we met some fifteen villains who would have
taken from us our horses and our lives. But we took such order with
them that they will not trouble us any more. See, here are their
heads."
When the porter heard these words he was well-nigh out of his wits
with anger. He said to the Duke Naymes, "Hear me; you must pay your
toll for the passing of this bridge." The Duke answered, "What is
the toll. We will content you." "It is no little, this toll," said
the porter. "You must pay thirty couple of hounds, and a hundred
damsels, and a hundred falcons in their cages, and a hundred horses,
and for each foot of each horse a piece of gold. Also you must give
me four pack-horses laden with gold and silver." The Duke said, "All
this and more you will find in our baggage, which comes after us.
You shall have your toll by noon. Of a truth there are many more
things than you say, as hauberks, and helmets, and good shields. You
shall take of them as much as you will." This Gallafer the Porter
believed, so boldly did the Duke speak, and he let them pass by the
drawbridge. Then Roland laughed out, and said, "Sir Duke, you have
indeed kept your word;" and when they had gone a little further
Roland espied a Turk that was coming across the bridge, and without
ado he lighted down from his beast, took the Turk by the middle, and
threw him over the wall of the bridge into the river. When the Duke
Naymes, looking behind him, saw what he had done, he said, "Surely
the devil is in this Roland; he has no patience in him. If God does
not keep us he will bring us all to our death." And indeed Roland
was of so high a courage that he took no count of time or place;
wherever he found his enemy he would forthwith avenge himself on him.
CHAPTER XIX
OF THE DOINGS OF FLORIPAS
In due course the French knights came to the town of Aygremore, and
having entered by the gate, came, a Saracen guiding them, to where
the Admiral sat in the shade of a tree. The Duke Naymes said to his
companions, "I am the bearer of the King's letter, and I therefore
will speak first." At this Roland was ill content, desiring greatly
to have this office for himself. But the Duke would not suffer it;
"Nay," said he, "speak not one word; you cannot keep yourself in
bounds; if you have your way you will bring us all to death before
sunset."
So the Duke spake first, beginning in this fashion, "Now may God
Almighty save and defend our mighty Lord King Charles, and confound
Balan the Admiral and his subjects. For these have borne themselves
to us most dishonourably, seeking to take from us our horses and
other possessions." When the Admiral heard these words, he had much
ado to keep under his anger. Before he could make answer to the Duke
there came the one King who had escaped from the Frenchmen, and told
him saying, "These are the same eight villains that slew the Kings;
avenge yourself on them." Balan said, "Let them be for the present,"
and turning to Duke Naymes, he said, "Finish now your message." The
Duke answered that he would gladly do this, and so proceeded: "The
great and noble King of France bids you render to him the crown of
thorns with which our Lord Christ was crowned and the other Holy
Things. Also he commands you to set free certain knights of his whom
you hold in prison; which things if you fail to do forthwith he will
cause you to be hanged by the neck till you die." Balan said, "You
have reviled me with violent words; but I have heard you courteously.
Go now, and sit down by yonder pillar, and let these others speak,
whom I have not yet heard."
Then came Richard of Normandy, and spake the same words. When the
Admiral saw him, he said, "You are like to Richard of Normandy, the
same that slew my uncle Corsuble. Go and sit you down till I have
heard your fellows." After Richard came the others, saying the same
words, and other words like to them. But none spake more fiercely
and proudly than Roland, who, after that he had bidden the Admiral
render the Holy Things and the knights his prisoners, added, "And see
that you give up these same prisoners in good case; otherwise King
Charles will have you hanged by the neck as a thief."
Balan cried in a rage, "These are proud words. Now I swear by
Mahomet and Termagant that I will not eat till you are hanged." But
Roland answered, "Then methinks you will keep an overlong fast. Say
what you will; I count you to be of no more worth than a dead dog."
Last of all came Guy of Burgundy, who, after he had delivered the
message said, "I counsel you, Sir Admiral, to submit yourself to my
lord the King. Take off your coat, and your hose and your shoes, and
go in your shirt only, carrying on your back the saddle of a horse,
and rest not till you come to the presence of King Charles, when you
shall confess your misdoings, and pray for mercy. Which things if
you do not, you will assuredly be hanged or burnt with fire."
When he had heard all these words the Admiral was not a little wroth.
He called, therefore, Brullant and Sortibrant, and others of his
counsellors, and said to them, "What shall we do with these men?"
Sortibrant answered, "Let them be cut in pieces. And when you have
slain them, gather together all your armies, and go to Mormyond,
where King Charles is at this present, and take him, and put him to
death." When the Admiral heard this counsel he agreed to it, and
commanded that preparations should be made for the slaying of the
French knights.
But the Princess Floripas was aware of all that had been done.
Therefore, coming into the hall, she saluted her father, and said to
him, "Who are these knights that are set yonder by themselves?" The
Admiral answered, "They are knights of France who have reproached me
with very evil words. What shall I do with them?" Floripas said, "I
advise you to smite off their heads with as little delay as may be,
for they have well deserved it. Afterwards burn their bodies outside
the city."
The Admiral said, "This is good counsel; it shall be done forthwith.
Go now to the prison, and bring thence the other knights that are
there. So shall they all suffer death together." "Good father,"
answered Floripas, "it is now time for dinner. You cannot
commodiously do this justice till you have dined." But her purpose
was to persuade her father with fair words so that he might bring all
the Frenchmen together. She said therefore, "Father, give these
knights into my keeping. They shall be well guarded. And after
dinner you shall do justice upon them in the presence of your
people." To this the Admiral consented. But Sortibrant, who knew
that women are changeable and inconstant, said to him, "It is not a
wise thing to put such trust in a woman. You will know by many
examples how men are deceived by them." Floripas was greatly angered
at these words of Sortibrant, and said to him, "You are a traitor,
perjured and disloyal. I would give you such a buffet on your face
that the blood would run down amain, were it a seemly thing for a
maid to do."
Their debate being ended, Floripas took the French knights to her
lodgings. As they went, the Duke Naymes said, "Who ever saw so fair
a woman as this? Of a truth the man who should do battle for love of
her would be well inspired." But Roland was angry, and said, "What
devil prompts you to speak of love; this is not the time for such
talk." And the Duke answered, "Sir Roland, I too was once a lover."
But Floripas, saying they did ill to dispute among themselves, took
them into her lodgings, and shut to the door. Then Roland and Oliver
embraced with much joy. The other knights also were right glad to
come together again. And, indeed, it was a marvellous thing; but
what will not a woman's wit effect in the attaining of that which she
greatly desires? For it has been told that Floripas had great love
for Guy of Burgundy, and was willing to be baptized if only she might
have him to her husband.
When the knights had finished their greetings, Floripas said to them,
"My lords, will you promise me on your honour that you will help me
to attain that which I desire?" The Duke Naymes answered, "That,
madam, will we do right willingly. And you may trust that we will
keep faith with you." Then Floripas asked the Duke by what name he
was known. And when he had told her she asked the names of the
others. And when she came to Roland and had heard that he was
Roland, son of the Duke of Milan and nephew to King Charles himself,
she kneeled down at his feet. And when he had raised her up right
courteously, she said to him, "I love a certain knight of France, Guy
of Burgundy by name, and I would have tidings of him." "Madam,"
answered Roland, "he is here in this very place; there is not more
than four feet of space between him and you."
Then Roland said to Guy of Burgundy, "Come hither, Sir Guy, to this
maiden and receive her right gladly, as is fit." But Guy answered,
"God forbid that I should take a wife except she were given me by
King Charles himself." When Floripas heard him she changed colour,
being very angry, and said, "If this be so, then I swear by Mahomet
that all these knights shall be hanged on a gibbet." Then said
Roland to Guy, "I pray you do this damsel the pleasure that she would
have." So Guy consented to her will. And Floripas said that now she
had the thing she most desired, and kissed him, not on the mouth, for
that she durst not, being yet a pagan, but upon the cheek and chin.
After this she opened a great chest that she had in her chamber, and
spread a fair cloth of silk, and on this she laid the crown of thorns
and the nails with which the Lord's feet were pierced. "This," she
said, "is the great treasure which ye have so much desired to see."
Then the knights went up and kissed the Holy Relics reverently, not
without tears. After this the things were put up again into the
chest where they had been before.
CHAPTER XX
OF THE DOINGS OF THE FRENCH KNIGHTS
As the Admiral sat at dinner there came into the hall the chieftain
who was named Lucifer, and was a special friend to the Admiral. He
said, "Is it true, as I have heard, that Fierabras, your son, who was
the very best knight in the whole world, has been overcome and taken
prisoner?" "It is true," answered the Admiral, "I will not hide the
thing from you. A French knight, whom may Mahomet confound, overcame
him. But we have taken five of King Charles's knights; seven other
knights came hither bearing a very insolent message to me from the
King, all these therefore are in prison. I gave them into the hands
of Floripas my daughter, and she has shut them up in prison."
"Sir," said Lucifer, "this was not well done of you, to trust these
prisoners to a woman, for women are apt to change, and to turn from
one thing to another. If it please you I will go and see in what
condition they are."
Then said the Admiral, "That is well counselled; go and see, and when
you return make my daughter to return with you."
So Lucifer went, and when he came to the chamber where Floripas was
he did not seek to have the door opened to him, but smote it so
stoutly with his foot that he brake down the bolts and bars.
When Floripas saw this she was very wroth, and said to Roland, "This
violence is ill-pleasing to me, Sir Roland, all the more because this
man that has done it should have been my husband, though I loved him
not. I pray you avenge me of this wrong."
"Be content, fair lady," answered Roland, "this fellow shall be made
to know of his misdoing ere he depart hence. Never did he pay so
much for the making of a lock as he shall pay for the breaking of
it." Meanwhile Lucifer entered the chamber, and coming up to the
Duke of Naymes, who was bareheaded, took him by the beard, and drew
him to himself so roughly that he had well-nigh thrown him to the
ground. "Whence come you, old man?" said he, "Tell me the truth."
The Duke told him, "I am Duke of Naymes, and I am a councillor of
King Charles, from whom I have come, with these lords whom you see,
bringing a message to the Admiral. And because what we said was not
to his liking, he has made us prisoners. But now take your hand from
my beard, you have held me long enough. And be sure that I say not
all that I think." The pagan answered him, "May be the Admiral will
forgive you your folly. But come, tell me truly of your countrymen,
how do they bear themselves, and what games do they play?" The Duke
answered, "When the King has dined every man may go where he will.
Some ride on horses, and some go into the fields, and some play at
chess or tables. In the morning every man hears Mass when it is
said; they are wont also to give alms to such as are in need. And in
battle they are not easily to be overcome."
[Illustration: BLOWING THE GREAT COAL.]
Lucifer said, "Old man, you dote; these things are naught; say, can
your folk blow at the great coal?" "I never heard of the great
coal," said the Duke. Then said Lucifer, "I will teach you the
manner of it," and he came near to a great fire that was in the
chamber, Roland making a sign meanwhile to the Duke that he should
bear with the man's way. Then Lucifer took the biggest brand that
was on the fire, and blew it so strongly that the sparks flew about
abundantly. "And now," said he to the Duke, "You must blow also."
Thereupon the Duke took the coal, and blew it so strongly that the
flame came near to the pagan's face, and burnt his beard. Lucifer
was almost out of his wits for anger, but before he could as much as
speak the Duke smote him with the brand upon the neck so strongly
that the bone was broken, and the man fell dead upon the floor. "By
my faith," said Roland, "you can play right well at blowing of the
coal. Now blessed be the arm that struck that blow." The Duke said,
"Blame me not, my friends, for ye saw how the man trifled with me."
Then said Floripas, "Sir, you are worthy of all honour. Lucifer, I
reckon, will have no more desire to play with you at the great coal.
Nor will he wish to marry me. For indeed that was his purpose.
Verily I had rather died the most villainous death than have had him
for my husband."
After a while Floripas, being a woman of wise counsel, said to the
knights, "This Lucifer that is now dead was a man much beloved by my
father, who doubtless is even now waiting for him to come to dinner.
As soon as it shall be known that he has been slain, you will be
assailed; and if you be vanquished, not all the gold in the world
will redeem you from death. Arm yourselves, therefore; and, being
armed, wait not till you are assailed in this place, but issue forth
and yourselves assail the Admiral's palace, and be sure that you do
this in such fashion as to become masters of it."
This counsel seemed good to the Knights. So they armed themselves,
and went forth, bold as lions and fierce as hungry wolves, and the
time of going forth was the hour that is between day and night.
First of all went Roland, and slew King Corsablis; next came Oliver,
and he also smote a king, Coldro by name; great was the slaughter,
for the Saracens were taken as they sat at meat. Many were killed
and not a few leapt from the windows and so perished. As for the
Admiral he escaped most narrowly; for as he leapt from a window
Roland dealt a great blow at him with his sword, and the sword made a
hole of a foot deep in the marble stone of the window. "Brother,"
said Oliver, "the Admiral has escaped from you." "You say true,"
answered Roland, "and I am but ill content." But the Frenchmen made
themselves masters of the palace, and having shut fast the gates,
were safe. But this was like to trouble them, that they had no meat.
Now the Admiral had lighted in a ditch, and now began to cry to his
men that they should draw him out. And this service Brullant and
Sortibrant did for him. And when he was drawn out, Sortibrant said
to him, "Sir Admiral, did I not say to you that you should not trust
a woman? See now what has happened. Another day you had better
believe me. Keep by the tail of an old dog, and you will not go out
of the way." The Admiral said, "Sortibrant, reproach me no more. I
will be avenged of these men before many days be passed." "That is
well," answered Sortibrant, "but now the night is far spent. I would
counsel you to do nothing before the morrow." With this the Admiral
was fain to be content. But he made great lamentation over Lucifer.
As for the Frenchmen, he vowed that he would drag them at the tails
of his horses, making sure that they could not hold out, because they
had nothing to eat, nor could their King send them any help, "for,"
said he, "all help must needs come over the bridge Mantryble, and
that bridge we hold."
The next day the Admiral having assembled a great host, began to
assail the castle with stones from slings and poisoned darts. In
this way they did but little damage, but the knights and the maidens
in the castle were sorely pressed for want of food, nor did any one
suffer more than Floripas herself, who was grieved not for herself
only, but for the knights also, and for the maidens that waited on
her. When Guy of Burgundy saw this, he said to his fellows, "It is
now three days since we had any bread. 'Tis a grievous thing to
endure; and I suffer more for these damsels than for myself. It were
better to die than to endure this pain. Let us, therefore, sally
forth, and get for ourselves some victuals." This counsel pleased
all the Frenchmen.
But Floripas said to them: "Now I see that the God whom you worship
is of little power, seeing that he suffers you to remain in such
straits. Now, if you had worshipped our gods, they would, beyond all
doubt, have furnished you with abundance of meat and drink." Roland
said, "Madam, let us see your gods. If they have such power as you
say, we will surely worship them." Then Floripas took the keys, and
took the French Knights to a place that was under the castle, where
the gods were set in great state, Apollo, to wit, and Mahomet, and
Termagaunt, and Jupiter, and others with them. Very splendid was the
place, and full of gold and jewels. Guy of Burgundy said, "Here is
store of gold: did King Charles possess this, he could set up the
churches that have been overthrown."
Floripas said: "Sir Guy, you spake blasphemy against the gods; do you
now worship them, that they may be inclined to help you." Sir Guy
answered, "Madam, I cannot pray to them, for it seems to me that they
are all asleep and take no heed of what may be said." So saying he
smote the image of Jupiter that it fell to the ground, and Ogier the
Dane smote another of the images. When they were all brought to the
ground, Roland said to Floripas, "Madam, these gods are of no power
and avail nothing." After this the maiden believed in them no longer.
After these things, Floripas having swooned for trouble and hunger,
the knights sallied forth. And Roland said, "Now some one must keep
the gates that we may be able, when the occasion comes, to enter it
again. Let the Duke Naymes therefore keep it, or Ogier the Dane."
The Duke said, "Think you, Sir Roland, that I am of estate so poor
that I will serve as your porter? Assuredly I will not do so. Old I
am, but yet I can ride my horse in battle, and my sinews are well
set, and I have enough of strength to fight my enemies." "You shall
do as you will, Sir Duke," said Roland. No man desired to take the
place. Nevertheless, at the last Thierry abode with Geoffrey to keep
the gate.
Meanwhile the Admiral, sitting at a window, saw how the Frenchmen
came forth to battle. He sent, therefore, for Sortibrant and
Brullant, and said to them, "I see that the Frenchmen are coming to
fight. If they be not all slain, I shall be very ill content." Then
the Saracens, of whom there was a great host, assailed the Frenchmen,
but could not stand against them. Roland, having his sword Durendal
in his hand, did great deeds of valour. Nor were the knights beaten
back, even though King Clarion, who was the Admiral's neighbour, came
to his help with 15,000 men. That day, therefore, the knights fought
with much glory. And when the battle was ended, there came to them a
marvellous good fortune. For they saw that there passed by the
castle twenty beasts laden with provender, bread to wit, and wine,
and venison, and a store of other victuals. These were on their way
to the Admiral, but the French knights straightway slew the escort,
and drove the beasts into the town. This thing, however, was not
accomplished without much toil and trouble.
Now the trouble was this. The French knights were so hard pressed by
a multitude of Saracens that followed King Clarion that some were
slain, as the Duke Basyn and Aubrey his son, and that Guy of Burgundy
was taken prisoner, his horse having been killed under him. The
Saracens blindfolded him and led him away, King Clarion meanwhile
scoffing at him and saying, "Cry and bray as you will, my fair
friend," for Guy called upon God to help him, "nothing will avail
you. This day I will deliver you to the Admiral, and to-morrow you
shall be hanged." The Frenchmen did marvels of valour, but they
could not stand against the multitude of their enemies, and were
constrained to take refuge within the Tower.
CHAPTER XXI
OF GUY OF BURGUNDY
The Frenchmen, being now safe in the Tower, refreshed themselves with
food, for they had fasted long, as has been told. As they sat at
meat, came Floripas and said to them, "Tell me now; where is Guy of
Burgundy, that was to be my husband? I saw him sally forth out of
the gates with you; has he returned with you?" Roland answered her:
"Floripas, think not that you will see him again. The pagans took
him out of our hands, notwithstanding all that we could do; and how
he will fare in their hands we know not." When Floripas heard these
words, she fell down as one dead. When she came to herself she cried
aloud with a lamentable voice: "Lords of France, if Guy be not given
back to me I will give up this Tower to my father before two days are
over." Then Roland comforted her saying, "Be not troubled, lady, you
shall see Sir Guy again in no long time. This also I say. You will
not bring him back by weeping and lamenting. Be strong now, and take
comfort, and also, for you are weak with long fasting, eat of this
food." Then Floripas and her ladies were content, and took something
to eat.
Meantime Guy was brought before the Admiral. He was much changed in
face, being pale and wasted, seeing that he had not eaten for three
days. Also he was troubled to think of the danger in which he stood.
He had been spoiled also of his arms. For all this it was manifest
that he was a very gallant knight. Balan asked him his name and
country. Guy answered: "Admiral, I will tell the truth without fear.
I am Guy of Burgundy, subject to King Charles, and cousin to Roland
the Valiant."
The Admiral answered, "I know you over well, Sir Guy. For seven
months past my daughter has had great love for you, a thing which is
most displeasing to me. Verily for this cause I have lost many good
men, that you and your companions have slain. But tell me truly who
are these knights that were with you in the Castle?" Then Guy told
him the names of the knights, the last of all being the name of Duke
Basyn. "Him," said he, "you have slain, but be assured that you will
pay right dearly for his death." When he said these words, a Saracen
that stood by smote him on the mouth so that the blood gushed out.
Thereat Guy was greatly moved with anger, so that he lay hold of the
Saracen by the hair with one hand and with the other hand smote him
upon the bone of his neck so fiercely that the man fell down dead
before the Admiral.
At this deed the Admiral was greatly enraged, and cried out that Guy
should be closely bound. At which word all the Saracens that were in
the chamber fell upon him and beat him so sorely that he would have
been shortly slain, but that the Admiral himself cried out that he
was not to be put to death in such a fashion. Then the Saracens
bound his hands, and the Admiral bade his men fetch Brullant and
Sortibrant and others of his council. "Friends," said the Admiral,
"advise me what I shall do with this prisoner who sets me at nought
most shamefully." Sortibrant said, "I will give you good counsel
concerning him. Set up a gallows-tree near to the moat of the Tower
in which the French knights abide, and make as if you were going to
hang this prisoner. But first cause that a thousand Turks well armed
and fit for battle be hidden in a secret place near to the said tree.
Be sure that the Frenchmen, when they shall see that their comrade is
about to be hanged will come forth to succour him, and when they be
come, then shall your Turks that are in ambush fall on them and take
them."
This counsel pleased the Admiral much. He caused, therefore, the
gallows-tree to be set up, as Sortibrant had advised, and set the
Turks in ambush, more than a thousand, that the thing might be made
more sure. After this he bade thirty Saracens lead Guy to the tree,
beating him sorely with their staves the while. His hands were bound
behind his back, and there was a great rope about his neck, and he
knew himself to be in evil case. He did not cease to commend himself
to God; also he cried out to the Barons of France, and especially to
Roland, that they should help him.
Now Roland stood at a window whence he could see the gallows-tree set
up. And he said to his comrades, "What means, think you, this
gallows-tree that these Saracens are setting up?" Then the others
looked, and the Duke Naymes said, "Without doubt they are about to
hang our comrade Guy of Burgundy." He had scarcely spoken when they
saw Guy led by the Saracens, bound and stripped. Floripas also saw
this thing, and cried to the Knights, "Oh, my lords, will you suffer
Guy that is your comrade to be thus shamefully done to death before
your eyes? If he perish in this fashion I will leap from this window
and so die." And she came to Roland and kneeled before him, and
kissed his feet, and cried to him, "O, Sir, help this Guy whom I
love, or else I am a lost woman. Arm yourselves, I pray you, and I
will cause your horses to be made ready, so, if God pleases, you will
be in good time." Then Roland and his fellows armed themselves in
great haste, and went forth from the Tower, and mounted their horses.
And Roland said to them, "Let us now keep together as much as may be,
and be ready to help each other as each may be in need, for otherwise
we shall hardly win back to this place, for we are but ten in number,
and they are many."
Floripas said, "My lords, I pray you not to tarry, but first I will
bring you the Crown of Thorns." So she went to her chamber and
brought therefrom the Holy Crown. This all the knights kissed with
much reverence, and so issued forth from the Tower with a good
courage. When they were gone, Floripas and her damsel lifted the
bridge and shut fast the gates of the Tower.
The Frenchmen rode in good order towards the place where, the
gallows-tree was set up, the Saracens being busied with Guy whom they
had now brought thereto, with the rope round his neck. When Roland
saw this, he cried out, "Hold, traitors; this thing shall not fall
out as you hope. You have begun a deed of which you shall surely
repent." Thereupon he charged at them with such fierceness that the
hardiest of them turned to fly; yet they fled not so fast but that
Roland killed twenty out of the thirty. When the Saracens that lay
in ambush saw this, they rose up from the place where they lay hid, a
certain Conifer, a pagan of marvellous strength, being their leader.
This Conifer cried out, "Ho, ye French knaves, come you to succour
this malefactor? Verily you shall be hanged along with him." Roland
was very wroth to hear such villainous words, and charged fierce as a
hungry wolf, with his sword Durendal drawn in his hand. Nor did
Conifer for his part draw back, for he was a great warrior. He dealt
a great blow on Roland's shield that went nigh to beat it down.
Nevertheless Roland slew him, cleaving his head in twain. This done
he ran to the gallows and cut the cords with which Guy was bound, and
afterwards stood by him till he had armed himself. This he did,
taking the dead pagan's arms and mounting on his horse. But this was
not easily done, for all the Saracens that had lain in ambush were
coming upon them, and they were sore pressed.
But Guy wrought marvels of valour, as one who having narrowly escaped
from death, fought with great cheerfulness of heart. Floripas also,
who stood at a window of the Tower, saw him, and cried out to him
that he should bear himself as a man. When Ogier the Dane heard
this, he said to his comrades, "Hark to this noble damsel, how
bravely she bears herself. We will not go back to the Tower till we
have done all that was in our mind to do." Then they charged the
Saracens yet again; Roland being still in the front, and driving the
pagans before him, for they flew from him on all sides. Thence the
Frenchmen made their way to the bridge and so again into the Tower.
When the Admiral perceived this, he was much troubled, and asked his
counsellors again for advice. Sortibrant said to him, "Let every man
that is here present make himself ready for battle and let all the
siege engines be prepared, and all the trumpeters stand prepared to
blow a great blast on their trumpets. The Frenchmen are but few, and
when they shall be aware of this great multitude they will be
overcome with fear." To him Brullant answered: "My friend, this that
you say is but folly. You will not frighten these Frenchmen in this
fashion, no, not though we had all the horns and trumpets in the
world. Is not Roland there, the mightiest knight that now lives, who
slays any man that dares to join in battle with him? They are all
great warriors, but Roland is of such greatness that if the rest were
his match they would drive the Saracens out of Spain. There is no
man that could stand against them, and as for our gods, it is long
since they have given us any help." The Admiral was very angry to
hear such talk and would have struck Brullant with his staff, but
Sortibrant held both his arms, "Let be your anger; we should do
better to take counsel together how we may break down this Tower that
the Christians hold."
Then the Admiral gathered all his men together, so many in number
that they covered the ground a mile every way. But of more avail
than all these multitudes was a certain magician, by name Mahon. He
had two siege-engines of marvellous power, which were so contrived
that they who worked them could not be hurt by the enemy.
Thus did the Saracens gain possession of the first defences of the
Tower; yet having won them, they could not long hold them, for the
French knights did their part right bravely, hurling down from the
upper parts stones and darts, and all kinds of missiles, and these so
strongly that no man could stand against them. The maidens also
armed themselves, and did the like.
But the magician had yet other devices to use against the Christians.
He said to the Admiral, "Let me have some of your men to wait on me,
and I will speedily deliver these Christians into your hand." And
when he had made all things ready, he discharged out of his engines
against the walls a fire so marvellous that the very stones began to
burn. The Frenchmen were sorely dismayed at this, and began to say
to each other that they must now surely quit the Tower. But Floripas
said to them, "My lords, be not afraid. I have something wherewith
to quench the fire." Then she went and took certain herbs, and mixed
them in wine, and the knights threw the wine on the fire, and it was
quenched immediately.
When the Admiral saw this he was out of his wits with anger, and when
Sortibrant told him that this was of his daughter's doing, he vowed
that she should die an evil death. Then said Sortibrant, "Bid your
horns and trumpets sound again, and send your men to attack the Tower
once more. By this time the Frenchmen must be so wearied that they
will be overcome. And they have neither stones nor iron to cast at
us." Thereupon the Saracens made yet another assault on the Tower;
so fierce was it that the air was as it were dark with arrows and
darts and stones, great portions of the walls fell down, and the
knights were greatly troubled. "Now," said they, "we must needs be
vanquished, for our defence is broken down." But Floripas bade them
be of good courage. "My lords," said she, "this Tower is yet strong
enough to hold out. Besides, though you have no more stone or iron,
yet my father's treasure is here, wedges and plates of gold,
wherewith you may slay the pagans as well as with stones, aye and
better too." Thereupon Guy of Burgundy, in great joy, kissed her.
Then Floripas, going to the treasure-house, showed the gold to the
knights. This they took and cast against the Saracens, to their
great discomfiture. Moreover, the Saracens, when they saw the gold,
left off fighting against the French, and began to slay each other.
The Admiral, when he saw this, cried with a loud voice to his
captains, "Cease now from the assault, for it turns to my great loss;
see now how my treasure which I have gathered with much pains is
scattered about. This treasure I had entrusted to the keeping of
Mahomet my god, and see how he has failed me. Verily, if I could but
have him in my hands, he should suffer pains for this!" Sortibrant
said to him, "Be not angry, my lord, with Mahomet. He has done as
well as it lay with him to do; doubtless he was asleep when your
treasures were spoiled. These Frenchmen are so crafty that they can
do what they will."
That same night, as the Admiral sat at his supper, Roland spied him
from a window where he lay to rest himself. He said to his comrades,
"I see Balan at his supper with his lords; he is taking his ease, and
it would be to our great honour if we make him rise up from his
meat." The other lords were of the same opinion. They armed
themselves therefore, and issued forth from the Tower. But the
Admiral was aware of their purpose, and he sent against them his
nephew, Espoulart by name, who was a very strong and valiant knight.
Espoulart rode against the Frenchmen, and encountering Roland smote
him on the shield so great a blow that he was well-nigh stunned, but
his flesh was not wounded. Roland, in his turn, unhorsed him, but
the Saracen was so nimble that forthwith he mounted his horse again.
But Roland smote him again, and so sharply that the man wist not
where he was. As he was falling to the ground Roland caught him
right deftly, and laid him across his horse and carried him away.
When the Admiral saw this he cried out in a great rage that they
should rescue his nephew. This the Saracens would willingly have
done, but they could not; many were hurt and many slain, and at last
all the Frenchmen escaped into the Tower. When they had shut-to the
gates they asked Floripas who he was that they had taken. Floripas
said to them, "This is Balan's nephew, a rich man and a powerful. If
ye would vex my father, put him to death." The Duke Naymes answered,
"Nay, we will not put him to death. We will keep him, and if should
happen that one of us be taken prisoner, we will make an exchange."
CHAPTER XXII
OF RICHARD OF NORMANDY
On a certain day after these things Richard of Normandy said to his
fellows, "How long are we to abide shut up in this Tower? I am sure
that at the last we must perish by the hands of these Saracens. It
would be well, therefore, that we send a messenger to King Charles,
telling him that if he would not have us perish he must send us
help." The Duke Naymes said, "This, Sir Richard, is but foolishly
spoken. There is no man here that will dare take this message. Know
you not that the whole land is covered with the Saracens, so that as
soon as the messenger is parted from us he will be slain by them?"
And Floripas said, "My lords, you are safe while you abide in this
place; make yourselves, therefore, as happy as you can." But Duke
Thierry was ill-content with such counsel, "We are shut in here, my
lords," said he, "and our happiness must be but brief. Let us inform
the King of our condition, that he may come to our help."
Ogier the Dane answered as the Duke Naymes had answered, that there
was no man who would go on such an errand. "Nay," cried Roland, "say
not so. I will go." But the Duke Naymes answered, "That would be
ill done, Sir Roland; you must not go hence; the Saracens would not
have so much fear of us by a half as now they have if you were gone."
Then others proffered to go, as William the Scot, and Gerard, and Guy
of Burgundy, this last being willing with all his heart, but Floripas
would not suffer it.
At last Richard of Normandy spake thus: "My lords, you know that I am
nobly born, and that I have a son of full age to bear arms, and fit
to stand in my place. Now if it should chance that I am slain in
taking this message, this my son would hold my heritage and do
service to King Charles." So it was concluded that Richard of
Normandy should take the message to the King. Roland said to him,
"Sir Richard, promise now that you will not tarry in any place till
you come to the King, saving if you should be hurt or taken
prisoner." And Duke Richard promised it should be so. Having so
promised, he said, "Let us consider now how I may get away from this
place unseen of the-men-at-arms, for if they espy me I cannot escape."
Roland said, "My counsel is this. Let us sally forth from the Tower,
and assault the Saracens with all our might, and while they are
busied with us then shall Duke Richard steal away, for he well knows
the country." To this they all agreed, not without tears, for they
knew that the Duke had taken upon himself a very perilous enterprise.
The next day, when this thing should have been done, the French lords
found that the gates of the Tower were so closely beset by a
multitude of Saracens that no man could by any means go forth. And
this was so for the space of two whole months. At the end of this
time, the Admiral having gone a-hunting, and the watch of the bridge
being negligently kept, the knights mounted their horses and issued
forth. So soon as they were seen of the Saracens, there was a great
blowing of horns and trumpets, and a multitude of men ran together to
do battle with the knights. While they were so engaged Duke Richard
secretly departed. After the Duke had ridden awhile, the road being
very steep, for it was on the side of a mountain, his horse was
sorely spent, and he was constrained to halt. And as he halted two
of the Saracens, to wit Sortibrant and Brullant, espied him, and said
to King Clarion, who was a very notable warrior, "See you, Sire, that
man yonder. Of a truth he is one of the Frenchmen that are shut up
in the Tower yonder. Without a doubt he is taking a message to
Charlemagne. Now, if we do not hinder him in this his journey it may
well turn to our great loss." When King Clarion heard this he armed
himself without delay, and mounted on his beast--a marvellous beast
that could gallop thirty leagues and not grow weary--and pursued
after Duke Richard, and other Saracens went with him.
When Duke Richard, looking behind him, saw the Saracens following
him, he was greatly troubled, for what could one man do against so
many? Nor was it long before the pursuers came up with him, King
Clarion leading them. The King said, "By Mahomet, you shall never
deliver this message." Duke Richard spoke him fair, "What trespass
have I done? I have never offended you or taken your treasure.
Suffer me, therefore, to go in peace. Render me this service, and be
sure that I will repay it many fold." But Clarion answered, "I would
not do this, no not for half the treasure of the world."
When he heard this, Duke Richard turned to meet the enemy. King
Clarion smote him on the shield, but could not break it through, so
stiff and strong was it. But the Duke, on the other hand, smote him
full on the neck, and shore off his head cleanly with one blow. It
flew a whole spear's length, so great was the stroke. Then the Duke,
leaving his own horse, took King Clarion's for himself; never before
had he ridden such a horse, so strong was it and so swift. He could
have borne seven knights in armour, and never sweated a drop; as for
swimming rivers, there never was beast like him. Then the Duke said
to his own horse, "Farewell, my good horse; I am grieved that I
cannot take thee when I will. God in heaven help thee to escape
these Pagans, and come again into the hands of Christian men, whom
thou mayst faithfully serve in great straits, even as thou hast
served me." So saying he went on his way.
When the other Saracens came up and found King Clarion lying dead
upon the ground they made great lamentation over him. Some would
have taken Duke Richard's horse, but the beast would not suffer them
to come near him but galloped as fast as he could to the place from
which he had come. And, indeed, thither he came in a very short
space of time. First the Admiral saw him, and cried aloud, "Now by
Apollyon my god, this is well done of Clarion my nephew; without
doubt he has slain the messenger of the Frenchmen, for see his horse
is coming." And he bade his men catch the horse. But this they
could not do, for the creature won its way to the gates of the Tower,
and these the knights opened to receive him, lamenting much, for they
had no doubt but that Duke Richard had been slain. Nevertheless,
Floripas bade them be of good cheer. "Stay your tears," she said;
"as yet you know not the whole matter."
Meanwhile the Saracens that had accompanied King Clarion came back,
bearing with them the King's body. When the Admiral saw it he
swooned, not once only but four times, so that he seemed like to a
dead man. The Saracens stood about, and made a great lamentation, so
that the Barons began to take heart again, and Floripas, being well
acquainted with the Saracen tongue, said, "Now I perceive the truth.
Duke Richard has slain this man and taken his horse, for indeed there
is no better horse in all the world. This lamentation that you hear
is for this ill fortune."
All the Barons were glad when they heard these words, and Oliver said
to Roland, "Now this is good news. I am sure in my mind that we
shall safely return home. I had not been more sure had I been in the
strongest castle in all France. God bless Duke Richard, for he has
borne himself right bravely." And all the other knights agreed to
his speech.
Meanwhile the Admiral called to him one of his favourites, by name
Orage, saying to him, "Now take a dromedary and ride with all speed
to Gallafer that keeps the Bridge of Mantryble, and say to him from
me, 'You suffered the messengers of King Charles to pass over,
whereby I have suffered great damage. And now there goes a messenger
to the King from the knights that are shut up in this Tower; wherein
if you fail, you shall pay for it with your life.'" Orage said to
the Admiral, "I will do your bidding with all speed, for I can take
in one day such a journey as other men take in four." And he
departed forthwith on his dromedary.
When he came to the Bridge Mantryble, he said to Gallafer, "The
Admiral is ill content with you, because you suffered the messengers
of King Charles to cross the bridge. They have done him great
damage, holding his chief Tower, and therein his gods and Floripas
his daughter, and have slain many of his servants. And now there
comes a messenger from these same men, who is on his way to
Charlemagne to seek for help. Keep him, therefore, from crossing the
bridge, which thing if you fail to do, you will surely die
shamefully." When he heard these words, Gallafer, the giant, was
greatly enraged, and made as if he would smite Orage with a staff,
but they that stood by hindered him. Then he mounted to the top of
the Tower, and sounded his trumpet, so that many thousands of men
assembled. Also the drawbridge was lifted.
Meanwhile Duke Richard considered within himself by what means he
might cross the bridge, and was in great perplexity, "for," said he,
"I do not see how I may win forward, nor may I return, and so fail in
my promise to Roland. Now may God help me in my need." And looking
about him, he saw how the whole land was covered with multitudes of
Saracens, of whom some were now but a little space behind him. The
foremost of these called to him with a loud voice, saying, "Now turn
you, Sir Messenger, for your hour is come."
Duke Richard was ill content to hear such boasting, and, turning
himself quickly, came upon him unawares and smote him so grievously
that he fell dead to the earth. Then he took the Saracen's horse by
the bridle and rode down to the river's bank. And lo! the stream ran
as swiftly as a bolt from a cross-bow, with a noise like to thunder.
And when he saw this and heard the roaring of the water, he commended
himself to God.
While he looked, lo! a white hart came to the river-side, and the
river, which before had been so much below the bank as a man may
conveniently cast a stone, began to rise, and so continued till it
came to the very top of the bank and even overflowed it. Thereupon
the white hart entered the water, and Richard, commending himself to
the protection of God, did the same, and swam safely to the other
side.
Meanwhile King Charles, being in great trouble about the knights whom
he had sent with a message to the Admiral of Spain, called together
his counsellors and told them what was in his mind, saying, "I am
greatly troubled because that no report has come to me concerning the
knights that I sent. I know not what to do, save that I will put off
this crown, which I am not worthy to bear." Said Ganelon, "My lord,
I will give you good counsel. Let us return forthwith to France.
This town of Aygremore is too strong for us. And the Admiral is a
great warrior, and has also all the Saracens and Pagans in the world
to help him. And now that Fierabras, his son, has been made a
Christian by you, he is even more evilly disposed to you than he was
before. Let us therefore go back to France. It is true that many
valiant peers and knights have perished, but they have left children
behind them, and these, when they have grown to man's estate, will do
those things wherein their fathers have failed. So shall we recover
the Holy Things, for which, indeed, I feel great sorrow, and avenge
also Roland, the good knight whom I am persuaded you will never see
more."
When the King heard this he fell into a swoon for the space of an
hour. When he came to himself he asked his lords again for counsel,
for he was loath to go back and leave Roland and the other Peers
without help.
But Ganelon and all that were of his kindred, and all that followed
him, gave him the same counsel as before. "There are twenty thousand
of us," said Ganelon, "that have sworn not to go any further." But
the King said, "What shall my crown profit me, if I do this base
thing, and leave these my knights to perish without help! He that
gives me such counsel loves me but little." Then said Reyner, that
was father to Oliver, "Sire, if you listen to these men you will do
this realm of France such damage as may never be undone." But Aloys,
one of the friends of Ganelon, answered, "You lie, Duke Reyner; were
it not that the King is here, this is the last word that you should
say. For indeed who are you that you take so much upon yourself?
Your father was a man of low estate." Then Reyner waxed so wroth
that he smote Aloys to the ground. Thereupon there was great tumult
and quarrelling, and there would have been bloodshed had not the King
been there. "For," said Charles, "any man that shall draw sword in
this place shall be hanged as a thief, though he be of the highest
estate." So after a while the King, Fierabras helping, made peace,
but "first," said he, "Aloys that spake so scornfully of Duke Reyner
must crave pardon." And this Aloys did, but sorely against his will.
Nevertheless the counsel of those who were for going back prevailed;
for Geoffrey of the High Tower, than whom there was no man more
worshipful in the King's court, was urgent that it should be so.
Then the King consented, but with much sorrow, and all the nobler
sort among his lords were greatly troubled that this should be done.
So the signal of retreat was given.
Scarcely had the army set forth, when King Charles, chancing to cast
his eyes eastward, saw one on horseback, with a sword drawn in his
hand, that was riding with all the speed to which he could put his
horse. Thereupon he called a halt, "for," said he, "if my eyes fail
me not, this is Richard of Normandy. God grant that he brings
tidings of Roland and of the other Peers!"
As soon as Duke Richard was come to where he stood, the King asked
him concerning Roland and the Peers. Then Duke Richard told him that
they yet lived; also he told him concerning Floripas and the Holy
Things, but that the knights were straitly besieged. "Can they hold
out," said Charles, "six days? If so they shall be delivered." "It
may be," answered Richard. "But they have no victual save what they
can win with their swords; the Admiral also has a mighty host of
Saracens about the Tower." Also he told him about the bridge
Mantryble, and of the great giant that kept it. "This bridge," said
he, "we must pass by subtlety, for by force we cannot. Now I have
devised a plan by which this may be done. Let some of us clothe
ourselves as merchants, having our armour and arms under our cloaks,
and let the rest hide themselves in a wood hard by, and be ready
armed for battle. So when we shall have gained the first gate, I
will blow on my horn, and at this signal you shall ride up with all
the speed you may."
The King greatly approved this counsel. Thereupon five hundred
knights disguised themselves as merchants. They made great bundles
of hay and grass, which was to serve as merchandise. Every man also
was well armed under his cloak. Duke Richard was their leader, and
with him was Duke Reyner and others of great repute.
CHAPTER XXIII
HOW THE BRIDGE MANTRYBLE WAS WON
When King Charles and his men had hidden themselves in a wood that
was hard by, Duke Richard and his company came to the bridge, driving
pack-horses before them, laden, as has been said, with false
merchandise. But when the knights saw the River Flagot, how swiftly
it ran and with how great a roaring, and the bridge how perilous it
was to pass, and the gates how they were barred with iron, they were
not a little troubled. Richard said, "I will go before. Do you
follow me, and when you have passed the first gate throw off your
cloaks and smite with your swords. And whatever may happen, see that
you fail not one another." And to this they all agreed.
Gallafer, the keeper of the bridge, stood by the first gate holding a
great axe in his hand that had an edge on every side. He was a giant
of great stature, with fiery eyes and skin as black as pitch, more
like to a devil than to a man. The Admiral was his nephew, and loved
him greatly, trusting him so that he made him warder of the bridge
and ruler of all the countryside.
When the French knights came near he said to them, "Strangers, who
are you?" Duke Richard answered, "We are merchants who travel to the
fairs, Mahomet helping us, with drapery and other goods for sale. We
would fain tarry awhile at Aygremore; also we have gifts, many and
precious, for the Admiral. These others that you see are my
servants, and know not your language. Tell me, therefore, what we
had best do and by what way we should go." Gallafer answered, "Know
now that I am appointed by the Admiral of Spain to be keeper of this
bridge. And because there have passed over it certain knights who
paid no toll, and also a messenger who won his way in wonderful
fashion across the river, and slew also my own kinsman King Clarion,
my master has straitly charged me that I should not by any means
suffer any man to pass the bridge unless he be known to me." When
Gallafer had said so much, Duke Richard bowed his head to him right
courteously, and having so done, passed through the first gate, three
others, of whom Duke Reyner was one, following him.
When Gallafer saw them he doubted what this might mean. "You are
overbold," said he, "to come so far without leave of me." And he
drew up the bridge. "And now," said he, "do you four surrender
yourselves. I will send you prisoners to my lord the Admiral, who
will deal with you as he shall please. And now let me see what you
have under your cloaks, for you seem to me to have some evil design."
When he had so spoken he laid hold of one of the four, and turned him
about four times. Then another, Raoul by name, who was cousin to him
on whom Gallafer had laid hands, cried, "Why do you deal so with my
kinsmen?" And he struck at the giant with his sword, but could not
hurt him, save to cut off a portion of his ear. Thereupon the two
dukes, Reyner and Richard, drawing their swords, smote him with all
their might. But they also availed nought, for the giant was clad in
the skin of a serpent, that was harder than any coat of mail. The
giant, on the other hand, smote at Raoul with his axe. But Raoul saw
the stroke coming, and leapt lightly aside, so that the axe fell and
hurt him not; but it cleft a stone of marble on which it lighted into
two parts. Then said Duke Reyner, "What shall we do with this giant,
for a sword avails nothing against him?" And he took in his hand the
great branch of a tree, and smote him to the ground. Thereat the
giant made a great and terrible cry, and the Saracens that followed
him came running. Thereupon Richard let fall the drawbridge, and the
five hundred sought to pass over it.
But the Saracens met them at the gate, and there was a great fight,
wherein many were wounded and many slain. Then Duke Richard sounded
his horn three times. When King Charles heard it he rose up
forthwith from his ambush in the wood, and all the Frenchmen with
him, and made for the bridge with all the speed they might use. And
foremost of all was Ganelon, that was afterwards the traitor.
Foremost he was, and gallantly did he bear himself that day. King
Charles also showed himself a good man-at-arms. They died that day
whomsoever he smote with his good sword Joyous.
The King saw the giant Gallafer on the ground with his great axe in
his hand wherewith he had slain thirty Frenchmen, and he commanded
that he should be slain, for he yet breathed. But not yet was the
bridge won, for a great multitude of Saracens came up to help them
that kept it. Among them was a giant, Amyon by name, who called to
King Charles, saying, "Where is the King? It were better for him,
dotard that he is, to be at Paris than here."
When the King heard this he dismounted in great wrath, and ran at the
giant, and smote him with Joyous so rudely that he fell to the ground
nigh cut in twain. At this the Saracens were not a little
confounded. Nevertheless, they pressed upon the King and his men
with darts and bullets and arrows. Then the King cried to his lords
and knights for help. Many answered his call; nevertheless he was so
hard pressed that there was scarce any hope left to him. Then the
Duke Richard bade him be of good cheer, "for," said he, "if every man
will but do his utmost this day we shall not fail." And he pressed
on, and his comrades with him. Nor did Ganelon hold back, though
there were some that gave him evil counsel, as Aloys, who said to
him, "See, now, how the King is beset. It were well for us if he
should not find deliverance. Leave him now, and let us go back to
France, where we shall be masters without contradiction from any
man." But Ganelon answered, "Now, may God forbid that we should
betray our lord, of whom we hold all that we possess." Aloys said,
"You are but a fool, seeing that you will not take your revenge when
you may." But Ganelon would have none of his counsel.
As these two were talking, Fierabras came up, being now healed of his
wounds, and asked where was the King. Aloys answered, "He is within
the gate, and I take it by this time that he is dead." Fierabras
cried, "What do you standing here? Why do you not help him in his
need?" And he cried out, "Come all of you to the help of the King!"
and a great multitude of Frenchmen came at his call. Great deeds did
Fierabras that day, and Ganelon also, so that they two did more than
any other to win the town.
Nevertheless there yet remained something to be done. For when
Amyot, the giantess that was wife to Amyon, heard the cry of the
townsfolk, she ran forth from her house, having a sharp scythe in her
hand, and fell upon the Frenchmen in a great rage, and slew many of
them. When King Charles saw what destruction she wrought he called
for a cross-bow, and shot a bolt at her, aiming it so nicely that it
struck her between the brows and slew her. It was seen that as she
lay upon the earth she vomited forth fire from her throat, but she
never moved more.
So the town of Mantryble was won. King Charles found much treasure
therein, which the Admiral had laid up there, trusting that it should
never be taken. Of this he made a bountiful distribution to his
army, so that all were well content. This done, he appointed Havel
and Raoul to keep the town, with five thousand men under them. Also
he caused all his army to be assembled, and went to the top of a hill
to survey them. And when he saw how many there were--for there were
a hundred thousand men--he thanked God that had given him such power.
And he made ready to march against the Admiral.
CHAPTER XXIV
OF THE END OF BALAN THE ADMIRAL
Meanwhile it was told Balan that Gallafer had been slain and the
Bridge Mantryble taken. He was as one out of his wits with rage,
and, crying out to his god Mahomet that he was accursed and recreant,
he smote the image with a club that he held in his two hands and
brake it down. Nor was this ill done, seeing that such things are of
no use or profit. Nevertheless Sortibrant reproved him, and bade him
repent of such injurious deeds. "That cannot I do," answered the
Admiral, "seeing that this Charles has won my strong city of
Mantryble." Sortibrant said, "Send a spy, Sir Admiral, that you may
know what King Charles is doing; afterwards, let us march together
against him, and if we prevail over him then shall you hang him and
his people without mercy, and you shall cut off the head of your son
Fierabras, for the help that he has given your enemies."
This the Admiral said that he would do. First he humbled himself
before his gods, and vowed that he would offer to them a thousand
pounds of fine gold. This done, he bade the trumpets sound to gather
together the Saracens. These brought great engines of war with which
to throw great stones against the Tower. And this they did to such
good purpose that they made three great breaches in the wall by the
least of which a cart might have passed. But Roland and Oliver stood
over with their shields and stopped the way. Then cried the Admiral,
"Friends, if you would have my love, do your duty, and bring this
Tower to the ground. Verily, when I shall have taken it, I will burn
with fire this ill daughter of mine, Floripas."
When they heard these words the Saracens came on more fiercely than
ever. And now the Frenchmen held but the last portion only of the
Tower. Then Roland bade his comrades fight with good courage, "or,"
said he, "we shall not overlive this day." As for Oliver, he was for
sallying forth. "It were better," said he, "to fall honourably in
the midst of our enemies than to be done to death in this place."
And Ogier the Dane and other lords were of the same mind. But
Floripas would not that they should do this. "You promised," said
she, "that you would do nothing against my will. And I bid you stay
within." And this they did, holding the breaches as best they might,
and driving back the Saracens.
After a while Balan saw his daughter where she stood at a window with
certain of the knights, and reproached her for her disobedience, and
threatened that he would burn her with fire. But she answered
nothing, only shook a stick that she had in her hand as if she would
have beaten him. Then the Saracens, at his bidding, assaulted the
Tower yet more fiercely, and the Frenchmen took the idols that were
in the Tower, images of Apollo and Mahomet and others, and threw them
down upon the Saracens to their great damage. When he saw this Balan
swooned with rage, but, coming to himself, bade the Saracens assault
the Tower yet again with all their might. And this they did so
fiercely that the Frenchmen were well-nigh in despair.
When they were in this strait the Duke Naymes, going to an upper
window in the Tower, saw the ensign of St. Denis in the valley
beneath, and called to his fellows that they also should come and see
it, "for," said he, "without doubt the King is coming to help us."
The Saracens also perceived it; whereupon King Coldro counselled the
Admiral that he should send an army to hinder him from coming to
Aygremore.
That day the King and his army lodged in the open field, for their
tents they had left at Mantryble. In the morning the King sent for
Fierabras and said to him, "Dear friend, now that you have been
baptized, I love you better than before. If, then, your father
consents to be baptized and to deny Mahomet and his false gods I will
establish him in his kingdom, and take not a penny of his goods. But
if he will not, then shall he die without mercy." And he asked
counsel of his Peers whom he should send with this message to the
Admiral. Said Richard of Normandy, "Ganelon would do this errand as
well as any man, should he be willing."
So King Charles sent for Ganelon, and gave him the message to be
delivered to the Admiral; and Ganelon was well content to go. He
armed himself, therefore, and mounted his horse that was named
Gascon, and went his way. When he came to the valley where the army
of the Saracens lay, the guards laid hold of him, but perceiving that
he carried a message, straightway let him go. So coming to the tent
wherein the Admiral abode, he spake with a loud voice: "The noble
Charles, King of France, sends this message: If you will renounce
Mahomet and all false gods and receive the true faith, you shall keep
all your land and worship, and shall be honoured and loved of all
Christian men. But if you will not, then you shall surely die." So
Ganelon spoke. But Balan, when he heard these words, was very wroth,
and made as if he would strike him. Then Ganelon drew his sword and
smote Brullant where he stood by the Admiral's side, and, leaping on
his horse, rode away.
The Duke Naymes saw him from a window in the Tower, and said to
Roland and Oliver, "Who is this knight that rides so fast." They
judged that he was none other than Ganelon, and Roland cried aloud,
"God grant that he fall not into the hands of the enemy." And as he
spoke, Ganelon turned upon the Saracens, and slew two of them, of
whom the brother of King Sortibrant was one. When Oliver saw this he
said to Roland, "See you this? That is a good knight. I love him in
my heart. Would God I were with him where he is." But when the
Saracens came near to the army of the King they left chasing Ganelon.
When the King knew how his message had sped he commanded that they
should set the army in array. This they did, parting it into ten
divisions. The Saracens also prepared for battle. And first
Brullant rode forth and challenged the King to combat; nor did he
hold back. So these two met and the King slew Brullant, and many
other Saracens also. Nor did the Saracens lack great warriors, such
as King Tenebres, a famous Turk, who slew John of Pontoise and many
others. But him Duke Richard overthrew; Duke Reyner slew Sortibrant;
and Balan the Admiral slew Huon of Milan, and went near to slaying
Milon, but that Ganelon and his men saved him, though not without
much damage to themselves. Nor, indeed, would they have so prevailed
but for the help of Fierabras.
And now the knights that were in the Tower, seeing the army of their
countrymen, came forth, and taking each man a horse, whose rider had
been slain, charged the Saracens. These being taken, as it were,
both before and behind, fled, as doves fly before a hawk. And Balan
fled with them, but being overtaken was made prisoner.
When the Admiral was brought to Charles, the King said, "Will you
forsake your false gods, who indeed have profited you nothing, and
accept the true faith? If you will do so, you shall suffer nothing,
either in your person or in your goods." "Nay," said the Admiral,
"that will I not." Then Charles drew his sword and said, "If you
yield not you die." And Fierabras, kneeling down, prayed that his
father might be spared. Then Balan consented to be baptized.
Nevertheless, when he came to the font the evil spirit in him
rebelled, and he spat in the font, and went near to slaying the
bishop that should have christened him; for he took him by the
middle, and would have drowned him in the font. When the King saw
this he said, "Verily this evil-doer must die." Nevertheless
Fierabras entreated him to have patience, and, turning to his father,
would have persuaded him even yet to baptism. "Nay," said Balan,
"that will I never do, and you are a fool, my son, to ask such a
thing. Would I were on horseback; then would I show these villains
what is in my heart." When the King heard this he said, "Who will
slay this fellow?" "That will I," answered Ogier the Dane, and he
smote off the Admiral's head with a stroke of his sword.
After this said Floripas to Roland, "Sir Knight, remember how you
promised to help me to that thing which I most desire." Thereupon
Roland said to Guy of Burgundy, "Bring to mind the promise which you
made to Floripas, the Admiral's daughter, that you would take her to
wife." "That will I do right willingly," said Guy, "if the King
consent."
So Floripas was baptized, King Charles and Duke Thierry being her
sponsors, but her name was not changed. Afterwards the bishop
married her to Guy of Burgundy. As for Guy he was made King of the
land; part he gave over to Fierabras, who held it of him; but
Charlemagne was overlord of the whole country.
CHAPTER XXV
HOW GANELON WENT ON AN ERRAND TO KING MARSILAS
For seven years King Charles the Great tarried in Spain. He
conquered the whole land from the sea to the mountains, saving
Saragossa only, of which Marsilas, a heathen, was King. Marsilas
called together his nobles, and said to them, "This King Charles will
be our destruction, for we have no longer an army wherewith to meet
him. Give me counsel, as wise men should, so that I may be saved
from death or disgrace."
Now the wisest of the heathens was a certain Blancandrin, a man
valiant in war and good at counsel. "Fear not," said he, "fear not,
O King. Send a message to King Charles promising him faithful
service and friendship. Send also a present to him. Let there be
lions and bears, and dogs, seven hundred camels, and a thousand
falcons. Send also four hundred mules laden with gold and silver,
that King Charles may have wherewithal to pay his soldiers. And tell
him that if he will return to France, you will follow him, and there,
on the Feast of St. Michael, will be converted to the Christian
Faith, and will be his vassal in all honour. If he ask for hostages,
let him have them, ten or twenty, as he may desire. See, I offer my
own son to be one of them, whatever may befall him. Better that they
should lose their heads than that we should lose our lordship and our
lands, and be brought to beg our bread." And all the chiefs of
heathenry said: "It is well; we will willingly give the hostages."
Blancandrin spake again: "By this right hand and by this beard I
swear that the end of the matter will be this: You will see the
French raise their camp in all haste and go back to their own land.
On the Feast of St. Michael King Charles will make a great
entertainment. But when he neither sees you nor hears any tidings of
you, he will fall into a great rage, and will smite off the heads of
the hostages. If it be so, it is better that they should lose their
heads than that we should lose this fair land of Spain." And all the
chiefs of heathenry said: "It is well said; so let it be."
Then said King Marsilas to certain of his lords--ten they were in
number, and these the most villainous of the whole company--"Take
olive-branches in your hands, and go and say to King Charles, 'King
Marsilas prays you to have pity upon him. He promises that, before a
month is past he will come with a thousand loyal followers, and will
receive the faith of Christ, and will become your vassal in all
honour. Also he says, that if you seek for hostages you shall have
them.'" Then the King gave the ten lords ten white mules, whereon to
ride. They had reins of gold and saddles of silver. So the ten
lords departed from Saragossa, and came to King Charles at the city
of Cordova.
[Illustration: THE AMBASSADORS OF KING MARSILAS.]
They found King Charles in great mirth and joyfulness. He had newly
taken the fair city of Cordova, having broken down the walls and
towers with his engines of war, and with the city he had taken a
great spoil of gold and silver. Of the people, too, there was not
one but had to make his choice between Christian baptism and death.
Now he was sitting with his barons in a great orchard. Some played
at cards, and some of the graver sort at chess, and the young men
fenced with each other. As for the King himself, he was sitting
under a thorn on a great chair of gold, a right noble man to see,
with his long, white beard. When the heathen ambassadors saw him
they lighted down from their mules, and paid him homage. Then said
their leader, Blancandrin, "Glory to the name of God! Our master,
King Marsilas, bids us say that, being persuaded that the law by
which you live is the law of salvation, he would fain win your favour
even by the half of his treasures. He sends therefore lions and
bears, camels and falcons, four hundred mules laden with gold and
silver, wherewith you can pay all your soldiers. Moreover, he says
that when you shall have returned to your own country he will follow
you thither, and will be obedient to your law, and do you homage for
his kingdom of Spain."
When King Charles heard these words he bent his head as one deep in
thought. So he tarried awhile, for his speech was never hasty. At
last he spoke: "You have said well. But your King has long been my
enemy. How can I trust these promises?" Blancandrin made answer,
"You shall have hostages, Sire--ten, fifteen, twenty, as you will.
My own son shall be one of them, and the others shall be of the
noblest of the land. So you may rest assured that at the Feast of
St. Michael next ensuing my master shall come to you at your palace
at Aachen, and shall there consent to become a Christian."
"He will do well," said King Charles; "'tis thus only that he shall
save his soul." Then he commanded that the white mules should be put
into stalls, and that a tent should be pitched in the orchard, and
the ambassadors have such entertainment as was meet.
The day following King Charles rose early, and having heard mass sent
for his nobles, for he would do nothing without the counsel of the
wise men of France. So the nobles came, Ogier the Dane among them,
and Turpin the Archbishop, and Count Roland, and with him Oliver, his
closest friend, and Ganelon, the same that was the traitor.
Then said the King, "My lords, King Marsilas has sent an embassy to
me with many and rich gifts, lions and bears, and camels, and
abundance of gold and silver. Only he makes this condition--that I
go back to France; and he promises that he himself will come thither,
even to Aachen, and will there profess himself a Christian and also
do homage for his kingdom. But whether he speaks the truth, that I
know not. What think you, my lords?"
Then stood up the Count Roland, and said, "'Twere madness to trust
this King Marsilas. Have we not been in this land of Spain for now
seven years, and has not this King Marsilas always borne himself as a
traitor? Did he not send fifteen of his heathens each with an
olive-branch in his hand, and did they not make this same profession
for him? You took counsel of your nobles, and you sent him--so
ill-advised were you--two envoys. What did King Marsilas? He took
their heads from them. What I counsel, Sire, is, that as you have
begun this war, so you carry it to an end. Lead your army to
Saragossa, lay siege to it, spend, if need be, the rest of your days
before it, but take vengeance for the brave men whom King Marsilas
did to death."
King Charles sat with his head bowed, and spake no word good or bad.
Then rose up Ganelon, and said, "Sire, I would have you take no
advice, except it be to your own advantage. King Marsilas has sent
to you, saying that he is ready to profess our faith and to hold the
kingdom of Spain as your vassal. He who would have you refuse such
an offer knows nothing of business affairs. Counsels of pride are
not for mortal men. Have done with folly, and listen to the words of
the wise."
Then stood up the Duke of Bavaria; snowy white was his beard and
hair. King Charles had no better counsellor than he. "Sire," said
he, "Ganelon has given you good advice. You will do well to follow
it. You have conquered King Marsilas in this war, taken his castles,
broken down his walls, burnt his towns, and put his armies to flight.
Now he begs for mercy from you. Surely 'twere a crime to ask too
much. Remember, too, that he is ready to give you hostages. Send
one of your nobles to treat with him, for indeed it is time this war
should have an end." So spake the Duke of Bavaria, and all the men
of France cried out, "The Duke has spoken well."
"But," said King Charles, "whom shall we send?" "I will go,"
answered the Duke, "if it so please you. Give me the gauntlet and
the staff an ambassador should have." "Not so," said King Charles,
"you shall not go. I would not have so wise a counsellor so far
away. Sit you down. 'Tis my command"; and he spake again, "Whom
shall we send to King Marsilas, my lords?" "I will go," cried Count
Roland. "Nay," said Oliver, "you are of too fiery and fierce a
spirit. I fear that you would but ill-manage such a business. 'Tis
better that I should go, if it so please the King." "Be silent, both
of you," said the King, "neither of you shall have a hand in this
matter. By this white beard of mine, I declare that no one of the
Twelve Peers shall go on this embassage."
Then stood up Turpin the Archbishop. "Sire," said he, "you have been
in this land of Spain now seven years, and your nobles have suffered
for your sake many labours and sorrows. Give me the gauntlet and the
staff; I will go to this Saracen, and say somewhat to him after my
own fashion."
But Charles answered him in great anger. "By this beard you shall
not do it. Sit you down again, and speak not till I bid you. And
now," he went on, "my lords, choose you for yourselves one who shall
go on this errand. Let him be a man of counsel, who can deal a blow
also, if need should be."
Then said the Count Roland: "Whom should we choose but Ganelon? You
cannot find a better than he." And all the men of France cried: "It
is right that he should go, if the King will have it so."
Said King Charles to Ganelon: "Come hither, Ganelon, and take this
gauntlet and this staff. The voice of the men of France has chosen
you. You heard it." But Ganelon liked not the matter at all. "This
is Roland's doing," he cried. "Never, so long as I live, will I love
Roland again, no, nor Oliver, for that he is Roland's friend, nor any
one of the Twelve Peers, for that they also love Roland. Here, under
your eyes, Sir King, I defy them all." "It profits not to be angry,"
cried King Charles. "If I bid you, you must go."
"Yes," answered Ganelon; "I perceive that I must go to Saragossa, and
he that goes thither comes not back. Remember, Sire, that I have
your sister to wife. We have one son; a fairer child you could not
see. One day, so he live, he will be a gallant knight. I leave him
my lands. Have a care for him, I entreat you, for I shall never see
him more." "You have too soft a heart," said King Charles. "If I
bid you, you must go."
Ganelon was in great trouble of mind. He turned him to Roland, and
said, "What means your wrath against me? 'Tis you, as all men know,
that have put on me this errand to King Marsilas. 'Tis well. But
know that if God suffer me to return, I will bring upon you such
trouble and sorrow that you shall remember it all the days of your
life." "This is but folly," answered Roland. "All the world knows
that I care nothing for your threats. Nevertheless, seeing that
there is need of a wise man to take this message of the King's, I am
ready to go in your stead."
"You shall not go," answered Ganelon. "You are not my vassal, nor am
I your lord. I will go to Saragossa, to King Marsilas. But be sure
that there will be something wherewith I may solace myself." When
Roland heard this he laughed aloud, and Ganelon grew so full of anger
that his heart was fain to burst. "I hate you," said he to
Roland,--"I hate you! for you have made this evil choice light on
me." But to Charles he said. "Behold me, Sire, I am ready to do
your will."
"Ganelon," said the King, "listen to me. Say to King Marsilas, that
if he will come and own himself to be my vassal and receive holy
baptism, I will give him half the kingdom of Spain; the other half is
for Count Roland. But if he will not do this thing, then I will lay
siege to his city of Saragossa, and when I shall have taken it I will
bring him by force to my city of Aachen, and will pass judgment on
him and he shall end his days in sorrow and shame. Take this letter,
which bears my seal, and give it into the King's right hand." So
saying he reached out the gauntlet to Ganelon with his right hand.
But when Ganelon reached out and would have taken it, it fell to the
ground. "This is an ill starting," said the men of France, "this
message will be the beginning of many troubles." "You shall hear of
them in good time," answered Ganelon. To King Charles he said,
"Sire, give me leave to depart, since I must needs go, 'twere well to
lose no time." "Go," said the King, "for our Lord Christ's honour
and for mine." And with his right hand he made the sign of the
cross, and gave him absolution. At the same time he gave him the
ambassador's staff and the letter.
Then Ganelon went to his house and clad himself in his finest armour.
On his feet he fixed his spurs of gold, and by his side he bound his
good sword Murgleis, and he mounted his charger Tachebrun. His uncle
Guinemer held the stirrup for him. Many gallant knights wept to see
him go. "O Sir," they cried, "this is an ill return for all the
service that you have done to the King. Never should Count Roland
have had such a thought. Send us, my lord, in your stead."
"Nay," answered Ganelon. "Why should I doom so many gallant men?
Let me rather die alone. Do you, my friends, go back to fair France.
Carry my greetings to my wife and to my son. Keep him safe, and see
that his possessions suffer no loss." So saying, he went on his way
to Saragossa.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE TREASON OF GANELON
Before he had travelled far, Ganelon overtook the Saracen
ambassadors, and, indeed, Blancandrin had delayed his journey that
this might be so. Said the Saracen, "What a wonderful man is your
King Charles! He has conquered Italy, and New Rome and Germany, and
is ready to lay his hands on England. But why is he bent on
persecuting us?" "Such is his will," answered Ganelon, "and there is
no man of such stature as to be able to contend with him." "You are
brave men, you lords of France," said Blancandrin, "but you serve
your master ill when you give him such counsel. You will bring him
to destruction, and many others with him." "Nay," said Ganelon. "I
am not one that deserves such blame, nor indeed does any man deserve
it, except Roland only. Of a truth this will bring him to shame at
the last. Now listen to me. The other day the King was sitting
under a tree when Roland came to him clad in his cuirass. He had
taken great spoil at the town of Carcassonne. In his hand he had an
apple. Take this," said he to his uncle the King. "As I cast this
apple at your feet so will I cast at your feet the crowns of all the
Kings of the earth. Such pride must surely have a fall. Every day
he exposes himself to death. I would that some one would slay him.
We shall never have peace but at the price of his life."
Blancandrin answered, "This Roland must be hard of heart if he would
subdue every nation and lay his hands upon every country. But on
whom does he count to help him in so vast an enterprise?" "He relies
on the French," said Ganelon. "There is nothing that he refuses
them, neither gold, nor silver, nor chargers, nor mules, nor silk,
nor armour. To the King himself he gives as much as he desires. I
doubt not that he will conquer the world even as far as the sun
rising."
The Saracen cast his eyes on Ganelon, and saw that he was of a fair
countenance, but had an evil look. And Ganelon, when the Saracen's
eyes were upon him, felt his whole body tremble from head to foot.
Blancandrin said, "Are you minded to revenge yourself on this Roland?
If you be, deliver him up to us. King Marsilas is a right generous
giver, and will willingly share his treasures with you." Thus the
two talked together, and by the time that they came to Saragossa they
had agreed together to seek the means by which Roland might come by
his death.
The King of Spain was sitting under a pine-tree on a throne that was
covered with silk of Alexandria. There were thousands of his people
around him, but not a word was said, so greatly did they all desire
to hear the tidings that Ganelon and Blancandrin might be bringing
with them.
Blancandrin came forward and stood before King Marsilas holding
Ganelon by the right hand, and said, "In the name of the Prophet,
health, O King. We delivered your message to King Charles. He
lifted his hands to the sky and gave thanks to God, but he made no
other answer. Nevertheless he has sent to you one of his chief
nobles, who is a great man in France. 'Tis from him you will hear
whether you will have peace or no." "Let him speak," said the King,
"and we will listen."
Ganelon stood a while, thinking within himself. Then he began to
speak, nor could any one have spoken better. "Health, O King, in the
name of God, the God of Glory, to whom all honour is due. Hear now
what King Charles commands. You must receive the Christian Faith.
Then will he grant unto you half of the land of Spain to be held of
him. The other half he grants to the Count Roland. Verily you will
have a proud companion! If this please you not, then he will lay
siege to Saragossa, will take you captive and carry you to Aachen,
where he has his Imperial Throne. There shall sentence be pronounced
upon you, and you will end your days in shame."
The King's face was changed with anger when he heard these words. He
had a gilded staff in his hand, and would have struck Ganelon
therewith, but that by good fortune his people held him back. When
Ganelon saw it, he drew his sword two fingers' breadth out of the
scabbard. "Sword," he said, "thou art fair and bright. So long as I
have thee in my hands the King of France shall not say that I
perished alone in the land of strangers; no verily, but their best
warriors shall have paid for my death with their blood."
And now King Marsilas had been persuaded to sit down again on his
throne. "You had put yourself in evil case," said his Vizier to him,
"had you struck this Frenchman. Rather you must listen to his words."
"Sire," said Ganelon, "I will put up with this affront, but never
will I consent, for all the treasures that there are in this land,
nay, not for all the gold that God has made, not to speak the words
that King Charles has commanded me to speak." And he threw to the
ground his mantle of sable, covered with silk of Alexandria; but his
sword he kept, holding its hilt in his right hand. "This is a noble
baron," said the heathen chiefs.
Then Ganelon spoke the same words as before, and when he had ended
them, he gave King Charles's letter into the King's hand. Now King
Marsilas was a scholar, having learnt in the schools of the heathen.
So when he had broken the seal of the letter, he read it from end to
end; and having read it, the tears came into his eyes with rage, and
he pulled his beard, and cried with a loud voice, "Listen, my lords,
to this foolishness. Charles, who is King of France, bids me
remember the two ambassadors whom I beheaded, and commands me, if I
would redeem my life, to send him my Vizier. If I fail in this, he
will be my enemy for ever."
All held their peace save the King's son, who cried, "Ganelon has
spoken as a fool speaks; verily he deserves to die. Deliver him to
me, and I will deal with him."
But Ganelon drew his sword, and stood with his back to a pine. King
Marsilas stood up from his throne, and went into the orchard hard by,
bidding the chief of his counsellors follow him. When they were
assembled there, Blancandrin said to the King, "You do ill to deal
harshly with Ganelon. He has pledged his faith to serve us." "Bring
him hither," said the King. So Blancandrin brought him before the
King, holding him by the right hand.
"My lord Ganelon," said Marsilas, "I was ill-advised when in my anger
I sought to strike you. I would make amends for the wrong with these
skins of martens which I have purchased this very day. They are
worth more than five hundred pieces of gold." Then the King hung
them about Ganelon's neck. "I accept them," said he; "may God
Himself make it up to you for your bounty!"
Said the King, "Believe me, Ganelon, that I greatly desire to be your
friend. Come, now, tell me about Charlemagne. He is an old man, is
he not? One who has lived his life? He must be two hundred years
old. Over how many countries he has passed! and how many blows has
he taken on his shield, and what mighty kings has he brought to beg
their bread! When, think you, will he be tired of waging war?
Surely 'tis time that he should be taking rest at Aachen."
Ganelon answered, "You do not know King Charles the Great. No man is
a better knight than he, so say all that know him. As for myself, I
cannot praise him enough; I had rather die than cease to be one of
his barons. But for his ceasing to make war, that cannot be so long
as Roland lives. There is no such knight in all the East. A right
valiant warrior, too, is Roland's companion, Oliver; right valiant
are the Twelve Peers also. Of a truth King Charles need fear no man
alive."
"But," answered the King, "there is no people that can be compared
with mine. Four hundred thousand horsemen I have with whom to fight
against King Charles and his Frenchmen." "Yet," said Ganelon, "it is
not thus that you will answer him. Rather will you lose thousands
and thousands of your soldiers. Listen now to my counsel. Give the
King money in abundance; give him hostages. Then he will go back to
France, and so going he will leave behind him his rearguard. In the
rearguard I know well will be Roland, his nephew, and Oliver, who is
Roland's companion. And being there, they are doomed to die. So
will the great pride of King Charles have a fall. Never again will
he rise to wage war against you."
"Ganelon," said the King, "tell us more plainly yet how I shall slay
this Roland." Ganelon answered, "He and twenty thousand men of
France will be in the rear of the King's army. It is your part, my
lord, to gather your whole host. Send against them first a hundred
thousand of your Saracens. I do not deny that they will be
destroyed, but, on the other hand, the men of France will receive
great damage. Then engage them in a second battle. It is not
possible that Roland should escape both from one and from the other.
And if he be slain, then you have taken from King Charles his right
hand. France will have no more her marvellous armies; never again
will King Charles lead such hosts into battle. So Spain will at last
have peace."
"Swear that this shall be," said the King; and Ganelon swore that it
should be on his sword Murgleis. Then they brought to the King a
great book in which was written the law of Mahomet, and the King made
a great oath upon it, that if by any means it could be so ordered,
Roland should die and the Twelve Peers with him. "May our purpose be
accomplished!" cried Ganelon.
Then the chiefs of the heathen came one after another to Ganelon with
gifts in their hands. First came a certain Valdabrun. "Take this
sword," he said; "no man has a better. The pommel and hilt are worth
a thousand crowns. Let it be the pledge of our friendship. Only
help us to bring Roland to his death." "It shall be done," said
Ganelon.
Then came one Chimborin. "Take this helmet," he said; "no man has a
better. See this great carbuncle that glitters on the vizor. Only
help us to slay Roland." "It shall be done," said Ganelon.
Then came Queen Branimonde. "Sir," said she, "I regard you greatly.
My lord and all his people much esteem you. I would send to your
wife two bracelets. They are of amethysts, rubies, and gold. Your
King has not, I well know, the like." Ganelon took the bracelets
from her hand, and he stowed them in his riding-boot.
King Marsilas said to his treasurer, "Have you made ready the
presents that I purpose to send to King Charles?" The treasurer
answered, "They are ready: seven hundred camels laden with gold and
silver, and twenty hostages, the noblest in the land."
And now the King would bid farewell to Ganelon. "I love you much,"
said he. "You shall not fail to have the best of my treasures, if
you will only help me against Roland. Now I give you ten mules'
burden of gold of Arabia, and every year you shall have the like.
And now take the keys of this city, and give them to King Charles;
when you present these treasures to him deliver to him also these
twenty hostages, only see that Roland be put in the rearguard."
"'Tis my thought," cried Ganelon, "that I tarry here too long."
Thereupon he mounted his horse and rode away.
CHAPTER XXVII
OF THE PLOT AGAINST ROLAND
And now King Charles had come on his homeward journey to the city of
Volterra (Count Roland had taken it and laid it in ruins three years
before). There he awaited Ganelon and the tribute of Spain, and
before many days had passed the traitor came. "Sire," said he, "I
greet you in the name of God. I bring you the keys of Saragossa,
also great treasure which King Marsilas has sent you, and twenty
hostages, the noblest in the land. King Marsilas also bids me say
that he is not to be blamed because he does not send the Vizier. The
Vizier, with many thousands of armed men, took ship--I saw them with
my own eyes--because they were not content to accept the law of
Christ. But before they had sailed four leagues, there came suddenly
upon them a great storm of wind, so that their ships sank. You will
never see them more, for they were all drowned. As for the King
himself, you may rest assured that before this month is spent he will
follow you to France, and that he will receive the law of Christ, and
will become your vassal holding the kingdom of Spain from you."
"Thanks be to God for all these blessings," cried the King. And to
Ganelon he said, "You have served me well, and shall have due
recompense."
Then the trumpets sounded, and the army went on its way to France.
That night the King had a certain dream in his sleep. He thought
that he stood in the pass of Cizra, holding in his hand an ashen
spear, and that Ganelon laid hold of it and shook it in such a
fashion that it was broken into a thousand pieces, and the fragments
flew up to the sky. After this he had another dream. He was in his
chapel at his city of Aachen, and a bear bit him so cruelly on the
right arm that the flesh was broken even to the bone. After the bear
there came a leopard from the Ardennes, which made as if it would
attack him. And lo! a greyhound came forth from the hall, and ran to
him with great bounds. First the greyhound laid hold of the bear by
the right ear, and then it assailed the leopard furiously. "'Tis a
great fight," cried they who stood by, but no one knew who would
prevail.
The next day the King called his lords together. "You see," said he,
"these narrow passes. Whom shall I place to command the rearguard?
Choose you a man yourselves." Said Ganelon, "Whom should we choose
but my son-in-law, Count Roland? You have no man in your host so
valiant. Of a truth he will be the salvation of France." The King
said when he heard these words, "What ails you, Ganelon? You look
like to one possessed. But tell me--who shall command my vanguard?"
"Let Ogier the Dane be the man," answered Ganelon. "There is no one
who could acquit himself better."
When Count Roland knew what was proposed concerning him, he spake out
as a true knight should speak. "I am right thankful to you, my
father-in-law, that you have caused me to be put in this place. Of a
truth the King of France shall lose nothing by my means, neither
charger, nor mule, nor pack-horse, nor beast of burden." "You speak
truly," said Ganelon; "I know it well." Then Roland turned to him
again, and said, "Villain that you are, and come of a race of
villainy, did you think perchance that I should let the gauntlet
fall, as you let it fall when you would have taken it from the King?"
Then Roland turned to the King and said, "Give me the bow that you
hold in your hand. It shall not fall from my hand as the gauntlet
fell when Ganelon would have taken it from your hand." The King said
to Roland, "Nephew, I will gladly give you the half of my army. That
will provide for your safety without fail." "Not so, my lord,"
answered Roland, "I need no such multitude. Give me twenty thousand
only, so they be men of valour, and I will keep the passes in all
safety. So long as I shall live, you need fear no man."
Then Roland mounted his horse. With him were Oliver his comrade, and
Otho and Berenger, and Gerard of Roussillon, an aged warrior, and
others, men of renown. And Turpin the Archbishop cried, "By my head,
I will go also." So they chose twenty thousand warriors with whom to
keep the passes.
Meanwhile King Charles had entered the valley of Roncesvalles, his
vanguard being led by Ogier the Dane. High were the mountains on
either side of the way, and the valleys were gloomy and dark. But
when they had passed through the valley, then they saw the fair land
of Gascony, and as they saw it they thought of their homes and their
wives and daughters. There was not one of them but wept for very
tenderness of heart. But of all that company there was none sadder
of heart than the King himself, when he thought how he had left his
nephew Count Roland behind him in the passes of Spain. Duke Naymes,
who rode beside him, said, "What troubles you?" "There is cause
enough," answered Charles. "I fear me much that this Ganelon will be
the ruin of France. Did he not cause me to leave Roland behind me in
the passes? And if I lose my nephew when shall I find his like
again?" And he told the Duke of his dream, how Ganelon had broken
the spear that he held in his hands.
And now King Marsilas began to gather his army. He laid a strict
command on all his nobles and chiefs that they should bring with them
to Saragossa as many men as they could gather together. And when
they were come to the city, it being the third day from the issuing
of the King's command, they saluted the great image of Mahomet, the
false prophet that stood on the topmost tower. This done they went
forth from the city gates. They made all haste, marching across the
mountains and valleys of Spain till they came in sight of the
Standard of France, where Roland and Oliver and the Twelve Peers were
ranged in battle array.
The nephew of King Marsilas rode to the front of the army and said to
his uncle, "Sire, I have served you faithfully, enduring much labour
and trouble, fighting many battles, and winning not a few victories.
And now all the reward that I ask is that you suffer me to smite down
this Roland. I will slay him with the point of my spear if Mahomet
will help me. So shall I deliver Spain from the enemy, these
Frenchmen will give themselves up to you, and you shall have no more
wars all the days of your life."
When King Marsilas heard these words, he reached out his hand, and
gave his gauntlet to his nephew. Then said the young man, "You have
given me a noble gift, my uncle. Now choose me eleven of your
nobles, and we will fight with the Twelve Peers of France."
The first that came forth to offer himself for the battle was
Fausseron, the King's brother. "My lord nephew," said he, "we will
go together, you and I--between us we shall win this victory. Woe to
King Charles's rearguard. We will destroy it to a man."
The next that stood up was Corsablis, King of Barbary. He was an
evil man and a treacherous, but that day he spoke as a loyal vassal
of the King. "This is no time," he said, "for drawing back. If I
find Roland, I will attack him without delay." After him rose nine
other chiefs, till the number of champions was accomplished, twelve
against the Twelve Peers of France.
The Saracen champions donned their coats of mail, of double substance
most of them, and they set upon their heads helmets of Saragossa of
well-tempered metal, and they girded themselves with swords of
Vienna. Fair were their shields to view, their lances were from
Valentia, their standards were of white, blue, and red. Their mules
they left with their servants, and, mounting their chargers, so moved
forwards. Fair was the day and bright the sun, as their armour
flashed in the light and the drums were beaten so loudly that the
Frenchmen heard the sound.
Said Oliver to Roland, "Comrade, methinks we shall soon do battle
with the Saracens." "God grant it," answered Roland. "'Tis our duty
to hold the place for the King, and we will do it, come what may. As
for me, I will not set an ill example."
CHAPTER XXVIII
HOW THE HEATHEN AND THE FRENCH PREPARED FOR BATTLE
Oliver climbed to the top of a hill, and saw from thence the whole
army of the heathen. He cried to Roland his companion, "I hear a
great sound of men coming by way of Spain, and I see the flashing of
arms. We men of France shall have no small trouble therefrom. This
is the doing of Ganelon the traitor."
"Be silent," answered Roland, "till you shall know; say no more about
him."
Oliver looked from the hilltop, and saw how the Saracens came on. So
many there were that he could not count their battalions. He
descended to the plain with all speed, and came to the array of the
French, and said, "I have seen more heathen than man ever yet saw
together upon the earth. There are a hundred thousand at the least.
We shall have such a battle with them as has never before been
fought. My brethren of France, quit you like men, be strong; stand
firm that you be not conquered." And all the army shouted with one
voice, "Cursed be he that shall fly."
Then Oliver turned to Roland, and said, "Sound your horn, my friend,
Charles will hear it, and will return." "I were a fool," answered
Roland, "so to do. Not so; but I will deal these heathen some mighty
blows with Durendal my sword. They have been ill-advised to venture
into these passes. I swear that they are condemned to death one and
all."
After a while, Oliver said again, "Friend Roland, sound your horn of
ivory. Then will the King return, and bring his army with him, to
our help." But Roland answered again, "I will not do dishonour to my
kinsmen, or to the fair land of France. I have my sword; that shall
suffice for me. These evil-minded heathen are gathered together
against us to their own hurt. Surely not one of them shall escape
from death." "As for me," said Oliver, "I see not where the
dishonour would be. I saw the valleys and the mountains covered with
the great multitude of Saracens. Theirs is, in truth, a mighty
array, and we are but few." "So much the better," answered Roland.
"It makes my courage grow. 'Tis better to die than to be disgraced.
And remember, the harder our blows the more the King will love us."
Roland was brave, but Oliver was wise. "Consider," he said,
"comrade. These enemies are over-near to us, and the King over-far.
Were he here, we should not be in danger; but there are some here
to-day who will never fight in another battle."
Then Turpin the Archbishop struck spurs into his horse, and rode to a
hilltop. Then he turned to the men of France, and spake: "Lords of
France, King Charles has left us here; our King he is, and it is our
duty to die for him. To-day our Christian Faith is in peril: do ye
fight for it. Fight ye must; be sure of that, for there under your
eyes are the Saracens. Confess, therefore, your sins, and pray to
God that He have mercy upon you. And now for your soul's health I
will give you all absolution. If you die, you will be God's martyrs,
every one of you, and your places are ready for you in His Paradise."
Thereupon the men of France dismounted, and knelt upon the ground,
and the Archbishop blessed them in God's name. "But look," said he,
"I set you a penance--smite these pagans." Then the men of France
rose to their feet. They had received absolution, and were set free
from all their sins, and the Archbishop had blessed them in the name
of God. After this they mounted their swift steeds, and clad
themselves in armour, and made themselves ready for the battle.
Said Roland to Oliver, "Brother, you know that it is Ganelon who has
betrayed us. Good store he has had of gold and silver as a reward;
'tis the King Marsilas that has made merchandise of us, but verily it
is with our swords that he shall be paid." So saying, he rode on to
the pass, mounted on his good steed Veillantif. His spear he held
with the point to the sky; a white flag it bore with fringes of gold
which fell down to his hands. A stalwart man was he, and his
countenance was fair and smiling. Behind him followed Oliver, his
friend; and the men of France pointed to him, saying, "See our
champion!" Pride was in his eye when he looked towards the Saracens;
but to the men of France his regard was all sweetness and humility.
Full courteously he spake to them: "Ride not so fast, my lords," he
said; "verily these heathen are come hither, seeking martyrdom. 'Tis
a fair spoil that we shall gather from them to-day. Never has King
of France gained any so rich." And as he spake, the two hosts came
together.
Said Oliver, "You did not deem it fit, my lord, to sound your horn.
Therefore you lack the help which the King would have sent. Not his
the blame, for he knows nothing of what has chanced. But do you,
lords of France, charge as fiercely as you may, and yield not one
whit to the enemy. Think upon these two things only--how to deal a
straight blow and to take it. And let us not forget King Charles's
cry of battle." Then all the men of France with one voice cried out,
"Mountjoy!" He that heard them so cry had never doubted that they
were men of valour. Proud was their array as they rode on to battle,
spurring their horses that they might speed the more. And the
Saracens, on their part, came forward with a good heart. Thus did
the Frenchmen and the heathen meet in the shock of battle.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE BATTLE
The first that rode forth from the array of the heathen was Ælroth,
nephew to King Marsilas. Good were his arms, and his horse was both
swift and strong. Grievous were the reproaches that he uttered
against the men of France. "Are you come," said he, "ye robbers of
France, to fight with us to-day? Know ye not that he who should have
helped you has betrayed you? Verily, a fool was your Emperor to
leave you in these passes, for the honour of fair France has perished
to-day, and the great Charles has lost, as it were, the right arm
from his body. So shall Spain have peace at last."
Roland heard these words with great grief in his heart. He spurred
his steed with spurs of gold, and smote the heathen warrior with all
his might. He brake his shield in twain, and severed the mail of his
hauberk, and clave his body into two parts. A mighty stroke it was,
and Roland cried aloud as he dealt it, "Learn now, thou wretch, that
King Charles knows well what he does. He loves not treason or
traitors. It was well done of him to leave us in these passes.
France shall have no loss of honour this day. Strike, men of France,
strike! The first blood is for us; these dogs of heathen shall
suffer for their misdeeds."
Then came forth a Duke from the host of the Saracens, brother to King
Marsilas, Fausseron by name. Never was a man on the earth more
insolent and villainous. When he saw that his nephew was dead it cut
him to the heart. He rushed out of the crowd, and, shouting out the
battle-cry of the heathen, hurled himself on the ranks of France.
"Fair France," said he, "shall lose her honour this day." Great was
the rage of Oliver when he heard these mischievous words. He struck
his spurs of gold into his charger's flanks, and smote Fausseron with
a right knightly blow. His shield he shore in twain, and burst the
links of his hauberk, and hurled him dead from his saddle. "Lie
there," he said. "Who cares for thy threats, thou coward!" And,
turning to the Frenchmen, he cried, "Strike, friends, strike! and we
shall conquer the enemy. _Mountjoy!_ 'Tis the King's own
battle-cry!"
Then came forth another King, Corsablis by name. From the distant
land of Barbary he came. He cried to his fellows in the army of the
heathen, "Easily can we bear up the battle. Few are these Frenchmen,
and of no account. Not a man of them shall escape, nor shall Charles
their King help them. Verily the day has come for them to die."
Turpin the Archbishop heard him--not one was there in all the heathen
host whom Turpin more hated--and charged him, spear in hand, and bore
him dead to the ground.
Full many of the heathen warriors fell that day. Not one of the
Twelve Peers of France but slew his man. But of all none bare
himself so valiantly as Roland. Many a blow did he deal to the enemy
with his mighty spear, and when the spear was shivered in his hand,
fifteen warriors having fallen before it, then he seized his good
sword Durendal, and smote man after man to the ground. Red was he
with the blood of his enemies. Red was his hauberk, red his arms,
red his shoulders, aye, and the neck of his horse. Not one of the
Twelve lingered in the rear, or was slow to strike, but Count Roland
was the bravest of the brave. "Well done, Sons of France!" cried
Turpin the Archbishop, when he saw them lay on in such sort.
Next to Roland for valour and hardihood came Oliver, his companion.
Many a heathen warrior did he slay, till at last his spear was
shivered in his hand. "What are you doing, comrade?" cried Roland,
when he was aware of the mishap. "A man wants no staff in such a
battle as this. 'Tis the steel and nothing else that he must have.
Where is your sword Hautclere, with its hilt of gold and its pommel
of crystal?" "On my word," said Oliver. "I have not had time to
draw it; I was so busy with striking." But as he spake he drew the
good sword from its scabbard, and smote a heathen knight, Justin of
the Iron Valley. A mighty blow it was, cleaving the man in twain
down to his saddle--aye, and the saddle itself with its adorning of
gold and jewels, and the very backbone also of the steed whereon he
rode, so that horse and man fell dead together on the plains. "Well
done!" cried Roland; "you are a true brother of mine. 'Tis such
strokes as this that makes the Emperor love us."
Nevertheless, for all the valour of Roland and his fellows the battle
went hardly with the men of France. Many lances were shivered, many
flags torn, and many gallant youths cut off in their prime. Never
more would they see mother and wife. It was an ill deed that the
traitor Ganelon wrought when he sold his fellows to King Marsilas!
And now there befell a new trouble. King Almaris, with a great host
of heathen, coming by an unknown way, fell upon the rear of the host
where there was another pass. Fiercely did the noble Walter that
kept the same charge the new-comers, but they overpowered him and his
followers. He was wounded with four several lances, and four times
did he swoon, so that at the last he was constrained to leave the
field of battle, that he might call the Count Roland to his aid. But
small was the aid which Roland could give him or any one. Valiantly
he held up the battle, and with him Oliver, and Turpin the
Archbishop, and others also; but the lines of the men of France were
broken, and their armour thrust through, and their spears shivered,
and their flags trodden in the dust. For all this they made such
slaughter among the heathen that King Almaris, who led the armies of
the enemy, scarcely could win back his way to his own people, wounded
in four places and sorely spent. A right good warrior was he; had he
but been a Christian but few had matched him in battle!
He came to King Marsilas, where he stood among his princes, and fell
at his feet; for indeed there was no strength left in him. "To
horse!" he cried, "my lord, to horse! You will find the men of
France worn out with the slaughter that they have wrought among us.
Their spears are shivered and their swords broken; a full half of
them are dead, and they that are left have no strength remaining in
them. It will cost you but little to take vengeance for the
multitudes whom they have slain. Believe me, my lord, these
Frenchmen are ready to be conquered."
Then King Marsilas bade his host advance. A mighty army it was,
divided into twenty columns, and the trumpets sounded the charge.
Never was heard such a din in the land! "Oliver, my comrade," said
Roland, when he heard it, "this traitor Ganelon has sworn our death.
But if he compass it, surely our King will take a terrible vengeance.
But as for us, we must do our duty as good knights, for verily this
battle will be no child's play. Strike thou with thy sword
Hautclere, and I will strike with my sword Durendal. Many a time
have we wielded them side by side; many a victory have we won with
them. Verily if we fall this day, these pagans shall not despise us."
The Archbishop, on his part, spake words of comfort to his people.
"Let no one think of flight," he said; "never shall these heathen
make songs upon us. 'Tis better far to die in battle. And if we
die, as well may be, there is this of which I can assure you: the
gates of Paradise shall be open to you. To-morrow, if so it be, you
shall have a place among the saints." Then the men of France took
fresh courage and made themselves ready for the battle.
King Marsilas said to his people, "Listen to me. This Roland is a
great warrior; it will be no easy thing to conquer him. One battle
we have fought against him and not prevailed; now will we fight
another; if need be, and you will follow me, we will fight even a
third. Of these twenty columns ten shall set themselves in array
against the men of France, and ten shall remain with me. As I live,
before this day is over, the power of King Charles shall be broken."
So saying he gave a banner, richly embroidered, to the Emir
Grandoigne; "Lead your men against the French," said he; "this shall
be your warrant from me."
So the King abode where he was on the hilltop, but Grandoigne
descended into the plain, having his banner carried before him. "To
horse!" he cried, and the trumpets sounded, and the host moved on to
the battle. And the French cried when they saw it, "Now what shall
we do? Curses on this traitor Ganelon, who has sold us to the
heathen!" But Turpin the Archbishop bade them be of good courage.
"Bear you as men!" said he, "and God shall give you the crown of
glory in Paradise. Only know that into Paradise a coward can in
nowise come." "So be it," said the men of France, "we are few
indeed, but we will not fail of our duty."
The first to charge from out of the ranks of the heathen was
Chimborin, the same that had given to Ganelon the helmet with the
great carbuncle on the vizor. His horse, Barbemouche by name, was
swifter than a sparrow-hawk or a swallow. He rode at full speed,
levelling his lance at Engelier the Gascon, and smote him through
shield and hauberk so stoutly that the spear stood out of his body on
the other side. "These Frenchmen are easy to conquer," he cried.
"Strike, comrades, strike, and break their rank!" But all the
Frenchmen cried out, "This is a grievous thing that so brave a
warrior should be slain!"
Said Roland to Oliver, "Comrade, see Engelier the Gascon is slain; we
had no braver knight in the host." "God grant that I may avenge
him," answered Oliver, and struck spurs into his horse. In his hand
was his trusty sword Hautclere, its blade red with blood. Therewith
he smote Chimborin so mighty a blow that he slew both man and horse.
Next he slew the Duke Alphais. Eight other Arab warriors he struck
down from their saddles, and in such sort they would never join in
the battle any more. "My comrade is in a goodly rage," cried Roland;
"these are the blows that make King Charles love us. Strike, men of
France, strike and cease not!"
The next that rode forth was the Emir Valdabrun, the same that had
given to Ganelon the sword. He was a great ruler of the sea. Four
hundred ships he had, and there was not a sailor but complained of
his robberies. The same had taken by treachery, and slain the
Patriarch of Antioch with the sword. This man smote Duke Samson,
breaking with his spear both shield and hauberk, and so did him to
death. "So shall all these wretches perish," he cried. And the men
of France were sorely dismayed.
When Roland saw that the Duke Samson was dead, he rode fiercely at
Valdabrun, and smote him so mightily with his great sword Durendal
that he clave in twain helmet, head, and body, and saddle, and the
very backbone of the horse, so that both fell dead together, both man
and horse.
After this Malquidant, son of King Malquid of Africa slew Ansol. Him
the Archbishop speedily avenged. Never priest that sang mass was so
sturdy a warrior as he. With one blow of his good Toledo sword he
slew the African. "He smites sore, does the Archbishop!" cried all
the men of France when they saw the deed.
After this Grandoigne who was the leader of the host of heathen
entered the battle. Five knights, valiant men of war all of them, he
slew one after the other, so that the men of France cried, "How fast
they fall, these champions of ours!"
Roland heard the cry, and it went near to break his heart, so great
was his wrath. He rode straight at Grandoigne, and these two met in
the middle space between the hosts. Among the heathen no man was
braver or better at arms than Grandoigne, but he was no match for
Roland. They had scarce met in the shock of battle when Roland with
one mighty blow cleft him to his saddle, aye, and slew the horse on
which he rode. Many other valiant deeds he wrought that day, nor did
Oliver lag behind, nor Turpin the Archbishop, riding on the famous
horse which he took from the King of Denmark. But though these and
others also bore themselves right bravely, such was the multitude of
the Saracens that in the end it carried all before it. Four times
did the host of the Saracens advance, four times did the Frenchmen
beat it back. But when it advanced for the fifth time, things went
ill for the Christians. Great was the price at which they sold their
lives; but scarcely threescore were left.
CHAPTER XXX
HOW ROLAND SOUNDED HIS HORN
Count Roland saw how grievously his people had suffered and spake
thus to Oliver his comrade: "Dear comrade, you see how many brave men
lie dead upon the ground. Well may we mourn for Fair France, widowed
as she is of so many valiant champions. But why is our King not
here? O Oliver, my brother, what shall we do to send him tidings of
our state?" "I know not," answered Oliver. "Only this I know--that
death is to be chosen rather than dishonour."
After a while Roland said again, "I shall blow my horn; King Charles
will hear it, where he has encamped beyond the passes, and he and his
host will come back." "That would be ill done," answered Oliver,
"and shame both you and your race. When I gave you this counsel you
would have none of it. Now I like it not. 'Tis not for a brave man
to sound the horn and cry for help now that we are in such case."
"The battle is too hard for us," said Roland again, "and I shall
sound my horn, that the King may hear." And Oliver answered again,
"When I gave you this counsel, you scorned it. Now I myself like it
not. 'Tis true that had the King been here, we had not suffered this
loss. But the blame is not his. 'Tis your folly, Count Roland, that
has done to death all these men of France. But for that we should
have conquered in this battle, and have taken and slain King
Marsilas. But now we can do nothing for France and the King. We can
but die. Woe is me for our country, aye, and for our friendship,
which will come to a grievous end this day."
The Archbishop had perceived that the two were at variance, and
spurred his horse till he came where they stood. "Listen to me," he
said, "Sir Roland and Sir Oliver. I implore you not to fall out with
each other in this fashion. We, sons of France, that are in this
place, are of a truth condemned to death, neither will the sounding
of your horn save us, for the King is far away, and cannot come in
time. Nevertheless, I hold it to be well that you should sound it.
When the King and his army shall come, they will find us dead--that I
know full well. But they will avenge us, so that our enemies shall
not go away rejoicing. And they will also recover our bodies, and
will carry them away for burial in holy places, so that the dogs and
wolves shall not devour them."
"You say well," cried Roland, and he put his horn to his lips, and
gave so mighty a blast upon it, that the sound was heard thirty
leagues away. King Charles and his men heard it, and the King said,
"Our countrymen are fighting with the enemy." But Ganelon answered,
"Sire, had any but you so spoken, I had said that he spoke falsely."
Then Roland blew his horn a second time; with great pain and anguish
of body he blew it, and the red blood gushed from his lips; but the
sound was heard yet further than at first. The King heard it, and
all his nobles, and all his men. "That," said he, "is Roland's horn;
he never had sounded it were he not in battle with the enemy." But
Ganelon answered again: "Believe me, Sire, there is no battle. You
are an old man, and you have the fancies of a child. You know what a
mighty man of valour is this Roland. Think you that any one would
dare to attack him? No one, of a truth. Ride on, Sire, why halt you
here? The fair land of France is yet far away."
Roland blew his horn a third time, and when the King heard it he
said, "He that blew that horn drew a deep breath." And Duke Naymes
cried out, "Roland is in trouble; on my conscience he is fighting
with the enemy. Some one has betrayed him; 'tis he, I doubt not,
that would deceive you now. To arms, Sire! utter your war-cry, and
help your own house and your country. You have heard the cry of the
noble Roland."
Then King Charles bade all the trumpets sound, and forthwith all the
men of France armed themselves, with helmets, and hauberks, and
swords with pummels of gold. Mighty were their shields, and their
lances strong, and the flags that they carried were white and red and
blue. And when they made an end of their arming they rode back with
all haste. There was not one of them but said to his comrade, "If we
find Roland yet alive, what mighty strokes will we strike for him!"
But Ganelon the King handed over to the knaves of his kitchen. "Take
this traitor," said he, "who has sold his country." Ill did Ganelon
fare among them. They pulled out his hair and his beard and smote
him with their staves; then they put a great chain, such as that with
which a bear is bound, about his neck, and made him fast to a
pack-horse.
This done, the King and his army hastened with all speed to the help
of Roland. In the van and the rear sounded the trumpets as though
they would answer Roland's horn. Full of wrath was King Charles as
he rode; full of wrath were all the men of France. There was not one
among them but wept and sobbed; there was not one but prayed, "Now,
may God keep Roland alive till we come to the battlefield, so that we
may strike a blow for him." Alas! it was all in vain; they could not
come in time for all their speed.
CHAPTER XXXI
HOW OLIVER WAS SLAIN
Count Roland looked round on the mountain-sides and on the plains.
Alas! how many noble sons of France he saw lying dead upon them!
"Dear friends," he said, weeping as he spoke, "may God have mercy on
you and receive you into His Paradise! More loyal followers have I
never seen. How is the fair land of France widowed of her bravest,
and I can give you no help. Oliver, dear comrade, we must not part.
If the enemy slay me not here, surely I shall be slain by sorrow.
Come, then, let us smite these heathen."
Thus did Roland again charge the enemy, his good sword Durendal in
his hand; as the stag flies before the hounds, so did the heathen fly
before Roland. "By my faith," cried the Archbishop when he saw him,
"that is a right good knight! Such courage, and such a steed, and
such arms I love well to see. If man be not brave and a stout
fighter, he had better by far be a monk in some cloister where he may
pray all day long for our sins."
But Roland cried again, "Strike home, men; have no mercy on these
heathen dogs." So saying he charged the enemy, and on the other side
King Marsilas came out to meet him. A great warrior was he, and his
horse was fleeter than a falcon. First he slew Beuvon of Burgundy,
and Ivan, and Gerard and other two: five knights he met, five he
slew, but the sixth was the Count Roland himself. "Curse upon you!"
cried the Count; "you have slain my comrades; verily you shall not go
scatheless hence." Thereupon with one blow he smote off his right
hand, and with another he shore off the head of the king's son
Jurfalew. "Help us, Mahomet!" cried the heathen. "How these
villains fight! They die rather than fly from the field of battle!"
And King Marsilas, throwing down his shield upon the ground, fled
from out the battle, and thousands fled with him, crying aloud,
"Verily, the nephew of King Charles has won the day."
But alas! though the King fled, the Caliph remained. He was King of
Carthage and of the whole land of Ethiopia. Chief of the black race
was he, and a mighty man of valour. Fifty thousand warriors followed
him; blacker than ink were they all, and with nothing that was white
about them save only their teeth. "We have but a short time to
live," cried Roland, when he saw the new host advancing to the
battle. "But cursed would he be that does not sell his life dearly!
Strike, comrades, strike! Let what will befall us, France shall not
suffer disgrace. When the King shall come to see this field of
battle, for one of us that he shall find dead there shall be full
fifteen of the Saracens. He cannot but bless us for such valour."
And Oliver cried aloud, "Ill luck to all laggards!" And the men of
France that remained threw themselves upon the enemy.
But the heathen, when they saw how few they were, took fresh courage.
And the Caliph, spurring his horse, rode against Oliver and smote him
in the middle of his back, making his spear pass right through him.
"That is a shrewd blow," he cried; "I have avenged my friends and
countrymen upon you."
Then Oliver knew he was stricken to death, but he would not fall
unavenged. With his great sword Hautclere he smote the Caliph on his
head and cleft it to the teeth. "Curse on you, pagan. Neither your
wife nor any woman in the land of your birth shall boast that you
have taken a penny's worth from King Charles!" But to Roland he
cried, "Come, comrade, help me; well I know that we two shall part in
great sorrow this day." Roland came with all speed, and saw his
friend, how he lay all pale and fainting on the ground and how the
blood gushed in great streams from his wound. "I know not what to
do," he cried. "This is an ill chance that has befallen you. Truly
France is bereaved of her bravest son." So saying he went near to
swoon in the saddle as he sat. Then there befell a strange thing.
Oliver had lost so much of his blood that he could not any more see
clearly or know who it was that was near him. So he raised up his
arm and smote with all his strength that yet remained to him on the
helmet of Roland his friend. The helmet he cleft in twain to the
vizor; but by good fortune it wounded not the head. Roland looked at
him and said in a gentle voice, "Did you this of set purpose? I am
Roland your friend, and have not harmed you." "Ah!" said Oliver, "I
hear you speak, but I cannot see you. Pardon me that I struck you;
it was not done of set purpose." "It harmed me not," answered
Roland; "with all my heart and before God I forgive you." And this
was the way these two friends parted at the last.
And now Oliver felt the pains of death come over him. He could no
longer see nor hear. He clomb down from his horse, and laid himself
upon the ground, and clasping his hands lifted them to heaven and
made his confession. "O Lord," he said, "take me into Paradise. And
do Thou bless King Charles and the sweet land of France." And when
he had said thus he died. And Roland looked at him as he lay. There
was not upon earth a more sorrowful man than he. "Dear comrade," he
said, "this is indeed an evil day. Many a year have we two been
together. Never have I done wrong to you; never have you done wrong
to me. How shall I bear to live without you?" And again he swooned
where he sat on his horse. But the stirrup held him up that he did
not fall to the ground.
CHAPTER XXXII
HOW ARCHBISHOP TURPIN DIED
When Roland came to himself he looked about him and saw how great was
the calamity that had befallen his army. For now there were left
alive to him two only, Turpin the Archbishop and Walter of Hum.
Walter had but that moment come down from the hills where he had been
fighting so fiercely with the heathen that all his men were dead; now
he cried to Roland for help. "Noble Count, where are you? I am
Walter of Hum, and am not unworthy to be your friend. Help me
therefore. For see how my spear is broken and my shield cleft in
twain, my hauberk is in pieces, and my body sorely wounded. I am
about to die; but I have sold my life at a great price." When Roland
heard him cry he set spurs to his horse and galloped to him.
"Walter," said he, "you are a brave warrior and a trustworthy. Tell
me now where are the thousand valiant men whom you took from my army.
They were right good soldiers, and I am in sore need of them."
"They are dead," answered Walter; "you will see them no more. A sore
battle we had with the Saracens yonder on the hills; they had the men
of Canaan there and the men of Armenia and the Giants; there were no
better men in their army than these. We dealt with them so that they
will not boast themselves of this day's work. But it cost us dear;
all the men of France lie dead on the plain, and I am wounded to the
death. And now, Roland, blame me not that I fled; for you are my
lord, and all my trust is in you."
"I blame you not," said Roland, "only as long as you live help me
against the heathen." And as he spake he took his cloak and rent it
into strips and bound up Walter's wounds therewith. This done he and
Walter and the Archbishop set fiercely on the enemy. Five-and-twenty
did Roland slay, and Walter slew six, and the Archbishop five. Three
valiant men of war they were; fast and firm they stood one by the
other; hundreds there were of the heathen, but they dared not come
near to the three valiant champions of France. They stood far off,
and cast at the three spears and darts and javelins and weapons of
every kind. Walter of Hum was slain forthwith; and the Archbishop's
armour was broken, and he wounded, and his horse slain under him.
Nevertheless he lifted himself from the ground, still keeping a good
heart in his breast. "They have not overcome me yet"; said he, "as
long as a good soldier lives, he does not yield."
Roland took his horn once more and sounded it, for he would know
whether King Charles were coming. Ah me! it was a feeble blast that
he blew. But the King heard it, and he halted and listened. "My
lords!" said he, "things go ill for us, I doubt not. To-day we shall
lose, I fear me much, my brave nephew Roland. I know by the sound of
his horn that he has but a short time to live. Put your horses to
their full speed, if you would come in time to help him, and let a
blast be sounded by every trumpet that there is in the army." So all
the trumpets in the host sounded a blast; all the valleys and hills
re-echoed with the sound; sore discouraged were the heathen when they
heard it. "King Charles has come again," they cried; "we are all as
dead men. When he comes he shall not find Roland alive." Then four
hundred of them, the strongest and most valiant knights that were in
the army of the heathen, gathered themselves into one company, and
made a yet fiercer assault on Roland.
Roland saw them coming, and waited for them without fear. So long as
he lived he would not yield himself to the enemy or give place to
them. "Better death than flight," said he, as he mounted his good
steed Veillantif, and rode towards the enemy. And by his side went
Turpin the Archbishop on foot. Then said Roland to Turpin, "I am on
horseback and you are on foot. But let us keep together; never will
I leave you; we two will stand against these heathen dogs. They have
not, I warrant, among them such a sword as Durendal." "Good,"
answered the Archbishop. "Shame to the man who does not smite his
hardest. And though this be our last battle, I know well that King
Charles will take ample vengeance for us."
When the heathen saw these two stand together they fell back in fear
and hurled at them spears and darts and javelins without number.
Roland's shield they broke and his hauberk; but him they hurt not;
nevertheless they did him a grievous injury, for they killed his good
steed Veillantif. Thirty wounds did Veillantif receive, and he fell
dead under his master. Roland stood alone, for the heathen had fled
from his presence, alone and on foot. Fain would he have followed
after the enemy; but he could not. Then he bethought him of the
Archbishop; when he looked, he saw him laid upon the plain. He
unlaced his helmet and took the corslet from off him, and bound up
his wounds with strips of his shirt of silk, and taking him in his
arms laid him down softly on the grass. This done, he said to him,
"Dear friend, suffer me to leave you awhile. All our comrades, the
men whom we loved so much, are dead. Yet we must not leave them
lying where they are. Listen then. I will go and seek for their
bodies, and I will bring them hither, and set them in order before
you." "Go," said the Archbishop, "and come back as soon as you may.
The field is left to me and to you. Thanks be to God for the same!"
Then Roland went to seek his comrades. Alone he went, and passed
over all the field of battle. He searched the mountains, he searched
the valley. There he found the dead bodies of Gerier and of Engelier
the Gascon, of Berenger and of Otho; and of others also. All the
Peers of France he found where they lay. Then he carried them one by
one and set them all on their knees before the Archbishop. Turpin
could not choose but weep when he saw these brave comrades dead. He
raised his hand and gave them his blessing. "Friends," said he, "an
evil fate has overtaken you in this world; may the God of glory
receive you in the world to come!"
Now Roland went again and searched the plain till he found the body
of his comrade Oliver. Under a thorn he found it, and he raised it
tenderly in his arms, and brought it back to where the Archbishop
sat, and put it hard by the other Peers of France. And Turpin gave
him also blessing and absolution. This done, Roland said with many
tears, "Oliver, my brave comrade, never was there a better knight
than you to break a lance, and shatter a shield, to give good counsel
to the brave, and to put to shame traitors and cowards." And when he
had said this he looked round on that fair company of the dead, and
his heart failed within him. Such goodly knights they were, and so
dear to him, and now they were gone. And he fell in a swoon upon the
ground.
[Illustration: ON THE FIELD OF RONCESVALLES.]
When the Archbishop saw him fall he reached out his hand and laid
hold of the horn. There was a spring of water in the place, and he
would fain give a draught to his comrade. Gathering all that he had
of strength together, he lifted himself from the ground, stumbling
and staggering he went, but his strength did not suffice for the
task; before he had gone the length of a furlong he fell staggering
to the ground, and the agony of death came upon him.
Roland came out of his swoon and lifted himself from the ground. He
looked down and he looked up, and lo! on the other side of his dead
comrades, stretched on the green grass, lay the great prince, the
Archbishop. His life was well-nigh spent. "I have sinned," he said,
and he clasped his hands and lifted them to heaven, and prayed to God
that he would take him into Paradise. And with these words he died.
This was the end of Turpin. Never was there a man who dealt with the
heathen with mightier blows or weightier discourse. May the blessing
of God be upon him!
When Roland saw that the Archbishop was dead, his heart was sorely
troubled in him. Never did he feel a greater sorrow for comrade
slain, save Oliver only. "Charles of France," he said, "come as
quickly as you may, many a gallant knight have you lost in
Roncesvalles. But King Marsilas, on his part, has lost his army.
For one that has fallen on this side there has fallen full forty on
that." So saying he turned to the Archbishop; he crossed the dead
man's hands upon his breast and said, "I commit thee to the Father's
mercy. Never has man served his God with a better will, never since
the beginning of the world has there lived a sturdier champion of the
faith. May God be good to you and give you all good things!"
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE DEATH OF ROLAND
Now Roland felt that death was near at hand. In one hand he took his
horn, and in the other his good sword Durendal, and made his way the
distance of a furlong or so till he came to a plain, and in the midst
of the plain a little hill. On the top of the hill in the shade of
two fair trees were four marble steps. There Roland fell in a swoon
upon the grass. There a certain Saracen spied him. The fellow had
feigned death, and had laid himself down among the slain, having
covered his body and his face with blood. When he saw Roland, he
raised himself from where he was lying among the slain and ran to the
place, and, being full of pride and fury, seized the Count in his
arms, crying aloud, "He is conquered, he is conquered, the famous
nephew of King Charles! See, here is his sword; 'tis a noble spoil
that I shall carry back with me to Arabia." Thereupon he took the
sword in one hand, with the other he laid hold of Roland's beard.
But as the man laid hold, Roland came to himself, and knew that some
one was taking his sword from him. He opened his eyes but not a word
did he speak save this only, "Fellow, you are none of ours," and he
smote him a mighty blow upon his helmet. The steel he brake through
and the head beneath, and laid the man dead at his feet. "Coward,"
he said, "what made you so bold that you dared lay hands on Roland?
Whosoever knows him will think you a fool for your deed."
And now Roland knew that death was near at hand. He raised himself
and gathered all his strength together--ah me! how pale his face
was!--and took in his hand his good sword Durendal. Before him was a
great rock, and on this in his rage and pain he smote ten mighty
blows. Loud rang the steel upon the stone; but it neither brake nor
splintered. "Help me," he cried, "O Mary, our Lady. O my good
sword, my Durendal, what an evil lot is mine! In the day when I must
part with you, my power over you is lost. Many a battle I have won
with your help; and many a kingdom have I conquered, that my Lord
Charles possesses this day. Never has any one possessed you that
would fly before another. So long as I live, you shall not be taken
from me, so long have you been in the hands of a loyal knight."
Then he smote a second time with the sword, this time upon the marble
steps. Loud rang the steel, but neither brake nor splintered. Then
Roland began to bemoan himself, "O my good Durendal," he said, "how
bright and clear thou art, shining as shines the sun! Well I mind me
of the day when a voice that seemed to come from heaven bade King
Charles give thee to a valiant captain; and forthwith the good King
girded it on my side. Many a land have I conquered with thee for
him, and now how great is my grief! Can I die and leave thee to be
handled by some heathen?" And the third time he smote a rock with
it. Loud rang the steel, but it brake not, bounding back as though
it would rise to the sky. And when Count Roland saw that he could
not break the sword, he spake again but with more content in his
heart. "O Durendal," he said, "a fair sword art thou, and holy as
fair. There are holy relics in thy hilt, relics of St. Peter and St.
Denis and St. Basil. These heathen shall never possess thee; nor
shalt thou be held but by a Christian hand."
And now Roland knew that death was very near to him. He laid himself
down with his head upon the grass, putting under him his horn and his
sword, with his face turned towards the heathen foe. Ask you why he
did so? To shew, forsooth, to Charlemagne and the men of France,
that he died in the midst of victory. This done he made a loud
confession of his sins, stretching his hand to heaven. "Forgive me,
Lord," he cried, "my sins, little and great, all that I have
committed since the day of my birth to this hour in which I am
stricken to death." So he prayed; and, as he lay, he thought of many
things, of the countries which he had conquered, and of his dear
Fatherland France, and of his kinsfolk, and of the good King Charles.
Nor, as he thought, could he keep himself from sighs and tears; yet
one thing he remembered beyond all others--to pray for forgiveness of
his sins. "O Lord," he said, "who art the God of truth, and didst
save Daniel Thy prophet from the lions, do Thou save my soul and
defend it against all perils!" So speaking he raised his right hand,
with the gauntlet yet upon it, to the sky, and his head fell back
upon his arm and the angels carried him to heaven. So died the great
Count Roland.
CHAPTER XXXIV
HOW CHARLEMAGNE SOUGHT VENGEANCE
Not many hours after these things King Charles came to Roncesvalles.
It was a grievous sight that he saw; there was not a foot of earth on
which there lay not the body of some Frenchman or heathen. And the
King cried aloud, calling the dead men by name. "Where are you,
Roland?" he said; "and you, Oliver?" All the Twelve Peers whom he
had left behind to guard the passes he called, but no man answered.
Charles wept for sadness of heart, and his nobles wept with him;
there was not one of all that company but had lost son or brother or
comrade or friend. Then spake up the Duke Naymes, "Sire," said he,
"see you that cloud of dust, two leagues away? 'Tis the dust of a
great multitude, even of the heathen army. Ride, Sire, and take
vengeance for these warriors whom you have lost." "What!" answered
the King, "are they already so far? Then must we make haste, for
they have robbed me of the very flower of France." Then he turned to
his nobles, and called four by name, and said to them, "Guard this
field, these valleys and these hills. Let the dead lie as they are,
but take good care that no beast of the field touch them, nor any
follower of the camp. Make sure that no one lay a hand upon them
till I come back." And the four answered, "So will we do, Sire;" and
the King left with them a thousand horsemen for a guard.
This done, he made haste to pursue the army of the heathen. The day
was drawing to sunset, but yet he overtook the enemy before darkness
fell. Some say that God wrought a great miracle for the King,
staying the sun in the heaven, till he should have avenged him of his
enemies. Be that as it may, this is certain, that he overtook the
Saracens and slew them with a great slaughter. Many fell by the
sword, and they who escaped the sword threw themselves into the
river, the river Ebro, and thus perished by drowning. And the men of
France cried, mocking them, "You have seen Roland; but it has not
turned to your good."
And now the night came on, and the King said, "We must think of our
camp; 'tis over-late to return to Roncesvalles." "It is well,"
answered his nobles. So they unsaddled their horses, and laid
themselves down on the green grass and slept. None kept watch that
night. As for the King, he lay down to rest in a certain meadow, his
spear by his pillow, for he would not be far from his arms. His good
sword Joyous was on his side. It was a marvellous weapon, for it had
in its hilt the iron of the spear with which the side of the Lord
Christ was pierced as He hung upon the cross. For a time the King
thought with tears about the good knights whom he had lost, Roland
his nephew, and many another who had fallen on his field. But at
last his weariness overcame him, and he slept. And as he slept he
dreamed two dreams. In the first dream he saw how there gathered a
great tempest in the heavens, with thunders and lightnings and hail
and wind, and how this fell upon his army, and how the lances caught
fire, and how the shields glowed with heat, and the corslets rattled
with the stroke of the hail. After this he saw how a multitude of
wild beasts, bears, and leopards, and snakes, and monsters such as
griffins rushed upon the host as to devour them. And he heard the
men cry, "Help us, King Charles, help us!" But when he would have
gone to help them a great lion out of the forest flew on him. Then
he and the great beast wrestled together. But who prevailed, he knew
not. He did not wake from his sleep, but his dream was changed. And
the second dream that he dreamed was this: He thought he was at his
palace at Aachen, and that he sat upon steps, holding a bear that was
bound with a double chain. And in his dream he saw how that there
came out of the forest of Ardennes thirty other bears who spake each
with the voice of a man. "Give him back to us, Sire," they said.
"It is not right that you should keep him so long. He is our
kinsman, and we must help him." And then--this was his dream--a fair
greyhound came and attacked the greatest of these wild beasts. But
who was the conqueror in this conflict also, he could not see. After
this King Charles awoke from his sleep.
Meanwhile King Marsilas came in his flight to Saragossa. He gave his
sword and his armour to his servants, and laid himself down in sore
distress upon the green grass under an olive-tree. He had lost his
right hand, and was faint with the bleeding. Loudly did his Queen
Branimonde lament over him. As for his servants they cursed King
Charles and the land of France, and vehemently reproached their god
Apollyon. "Villain of a god!" they cried, "why dost thou put us to
such shame? Why dost thou so confound our King? This is an ill
return to those who do thee honour." So saying they took from the
god his sceptre and crown, and brake him to pieces with their staves.
Never before was a god so ill-treated of his worshippers.
Then said the Queen to herself, in the midst of her tears, "Now a
curse upon these gods who have failed us in the day of battle. We
have the Emir only who can help us. Surely he cannot be so base as
not to fight against these men of France!" So King Marsilas sent an
ambassador praying him for help. "Of a truth," he said, "if you fail
me I will cast away my gods, and take upon me the faith of Christ,
and make peace with King Charles."
When the Emir heard this he gathered together the people of his four
kingdoms, and put them on board a fleet of ships, and set forth to
sea. Quickly did they come to the land of Spain; nor did they halt
till they came to the city of Saragossa. Then the servants of the
Emir spread on the grass a carpet of white silk, and on it they set
an ivory chair. The Emir sat upon it, and his chiefs stood round
about.
"Listen!" said the Emir, "This Charles has troubled the land of Spain
too long. I will attack him in his own country, even in France.
Nothing shall hinder me from bringing him to my feet or slaying him."
And as he spake he struck his knee with the gauntlet of his right
hand. Then he called to him two of his chiefs and said, "Go now to
King Marsilas and say to him: I come to help you against the men of
France. Come and pay me homage, and I will make war upon King
Charles, even in his own land of France. Verily if he do not fall at
my feet and beg for pardon, and renounce the faith of Christ, I will
tear his crown from his head. Take him also, for a token, this
gauntlet and this staff of gold." And all his nobles cried, "It is
well said."
So the two envoys went, carrying, one the gauntlet and the other the
staff. When they had passed through the gates of Saragossa, they saw
a great multitude of men lamenting. "The gods have dealt ill with
us," said they; "our King is wounded to the death, and his son is
dead, and Spain will be the prey of the Christian dogs." When they
were come to the palace they made their salutations, saying,
"Now may Apollyon and Mahomet have King Marsilas and Queen Branimonde
in their keeping!" "Nay," said the Queen, "what folly is this? Our
gods have deserted us. See what they suffered to befall the King my
husband." The envoy answered, "A truce to such words! The Emir our
master bade us say, 'I will deliver King Marsilas; as for this
Charles, I will attack him in his own land of France. This gauntlet
and this staff he sends for a proof of his words.'" Queen Branimonde
made answer, "You have no need to go to France. Here in this land of
Spain you may meet King Charles, and of a truth you will find him a
great warrior."
Then said the King, "You see, my lords, that I am in evil case. I
have none to come after me, neither son nor daughter. A son I had
but yesterday, but the Count Roland slew him. Say to your master for
me, I yield you this land of Spain; only guard it against the
Christians! And bid him come to me; I will give him useful counsel
about King Charles; and take him the keys of this city of Saragossa.
As for Charles he is encamped by the river Ebro, seven leagues hence.
There will the Emir find him, for of a truth the men of France will
not refuse the battle."
Then the envoys returned to the Emir, and told him all that
happened--how King Charles had left Roland and the Peers to guard the
passes, and how they had been slain, and what great loss King
Marsilas had suffered, and how he yielded to him the whole land of
Spain, and how King Charles and his men were in camp by the Ebro.
Then the Emir commanded his men that they should make ready for the
march. "Make haste," he said, "or these Frenchmen will escape us."
Meanwhile King Charles had made search for the body of his nephew,
the Count Roland, and for the others that had fallen with him. And
when these had been found, he caused that the rest should be buried
with great honour, but three of the bodies, Roland, to wit, and
Oliver, and Turpin the Archbishop, he commanded to be set aside. The
hearts of these three were taken out of their bodies and wrapped in
silk, and then enclosed in coffins of white marble. But the bodies
were wrapped in deer-skins, with store of spices, and set each in a
carriage, that they might be taken to the town of Blois.
When these things had been done, there came two envoys from the Emir,
bearing this message. "The Emir brings against you a great army from
the land of Arabia. Take heed, therefore, for he will make proof of
you to-day, whether you are indeed a man of courage."
The King made no answer to these words, save that he cried to his
men, with a loud voice, "To arms! To arms!" Then without delay he
armed himself, donning his corslet and lacing his helmet, and taking
in his hand his good sword Joyous, and when he had mounted his good
steed he rode forth in front of his army. "Never was more kingly
man!" said all the army. And the King said, as he looked upon the
army, "Who would not trust such men? If only these heathen stand
their ground, surely they shall pay dearly for the death of Roland."
"God grant it be so!" said the Duke Naymes. Then the King called to
him two lords: "You shall take the place of Roland and Oliver; one of
you shall carry the sword, and one the horn." And after this he set
his whole army in array.
Meanwhile the envoys of the Emir returned to him. "We have seen King
Charles," they said. "He is brave, and brave are they that follow
him, nor will they fail the King. You will have to do battle with
them. Therefore arm yourself." "That is good news for all that are
of a good courage," said the Emir. "Sound the trumpets, that my
people may make themselves ready." A mighty warrior was he, with
deep chest and broad shoulders, over which his hair fell in curls,
with fair face and shining eyes; of his courage he had given proofs
without number. What a gallant knight he had been, were he but a
Christian man! He had a sword of renown, which he called Precious,
and a great bear-spear, Matté by name. A gallant knight also was the
Prince Malprime, his son. "Forward, Sire," said the Prince to his
father. "Shall we see King Charles to-day?" "Yes," answered the
Emir, "for he is a brave man, and all speak of him with honour.
Nevertheless, now that he has lost the Count Roland his nephew, he
can scarcely hold his ground before us. Yet we shall have a great
battle to fight." "Be it so," said the Prince. "I ask from you the
honour of striking the first blow." "It shall be yours," said the
Emir.
Then the Emir set his battle in array, so that the two hosts stood
over against each other. There was neither hill nor valley nor
forest between them; each was in full sight of the other. Splendid
and terrible they were to view, so brightly shone the helmets and
bucklers and shields and spears. And bright and clear was the sound
of the trumpets; but the brightest and clearest of all was the horn
of Charles the great King. And first the Emir rode forth in front of
his army. "Follow me!" he cried to his army, "I will show you the
way." And he brandished his spear, turning the point towards the
King of France. And King Charles, on his part, when he saw the Emir,
and his standard, the Dragon, borne after him, cried with a loud
voice, "Lords of France, you have fought many battles, and now there
is yet one more for you to fight. See, then, this host of heathens.
Many they are in number. But what matters the multitude of them?
Follow me!" Thereupon he spurred his charger. The good steed
bounded forward, and all the men of France cried out, "A brave man is
our King; not one of us will fail him." The first that dealt a blow
to the enemy was the Count Rabel. Spurring his horse, he charged
Torlen, the King of Persia, and struck his shield fairly with his
spear. The good steel pierced shield and corslet, and the King fell
dead upon the field. "Strike! strike for Charles and the Right!"
cried all the men of France when they saw the Persian fall.
On the other side the Prince Malprime, son to the Emir, rode forward
on his white horse, charging into the midst of the army of France,
and striking down warrior after warrior. "See!" cried the Emir,
"see, my son, how he is seeking for the King of the French! There is
no better soldier than he. Follow him and the victory shall be
yours, and all the prizes of victory, lands, and castles, and gold
and fair women." Nor did the chiefs of the heathen delay to charge.
Fiercely did they ride forward, and the battle raged over the plain.
When the Duke Naymes saw how the Prince Malprime was breaking the
ranks of France, dealing death at every blow, he charged him, spear
in rest. He drave the point through the upper rim of his shield and
through his corslet, deep into his side, and laid him dead on the
field. But when King Canaben, who was uncle to the Prince, saw what
had befallen his nephew, he rode at the Duke, and, drawing his sword,
dealt him a great blow on the helmet. Half of the helmet and laces
wherewith it was laced were shorn off by the stroke, and the edge of
the sword touched the flesh itself. The Duke yet clung with one arm
to the neck of his horse; if the heathen deal him another such blow
he is lost. But, thanks to God, King Charles came to his help. He
struck King Canaben through the vizor of his helmet with his
boar-spear, and with the one blow laid him dead to the ground.
Elsewhere in the field the Emir wrought great havoc in the ranks of
France, slaying chief after chief, among them the old man Richard,
Duke of the Normans. Behind him followed many heathen knights. Many
valorous deeds they did. Where the Emir led the ranks of the heathen
there the men of France suffered grievous loss, and now there came
one who brought him tidings of ill. "The Prince Malprime, your son,
is slain," said the man; "also King Canaben, your brother, is slain."
The Emir had well-nigh died of grief to hear such evil news; but he
called to him one of his wisest counsellors. "Come near," said he;
"you are loyal and wise, and I have ever followed your counsel. Tell
me now, will the day go for the Arabs or for the men of France?"
"Sire," the sage replied, "you are in evil case. As for your gods,
look not to them for help. Call now your Turks and Arabs, and, above
all, your Giants to the front. With them you may yet win the day."
Then the Emir put his horn to his mouth and blew a call, loud and
clear. The Turks and the Arabs and the Giants answered thereto.
Mighty warriors they were, and fierce was the charge they made; so
fierce that they brake the army of France in twain. But when Ogier
the Dane saw what had befallen the King's army he said to him, "See
you how the heathen are breaking our ranks and slaying our men. If
you would bear your crown where it should be borne you must strike
with all your might."
Then the King rode forward, and with him the Duke Naymes, and Ogier
the Dane, and Geoffrey Count of Anjou. All quitted themselves as
good knights, but there was none who bore himself so bravely as Ogier
the Dane. Many he slew, among them the heathen knight who carried
the Emir's standard. Sore discouraged was the Emir when he saw his
standard in the dust, but the heart of King Charles was high with
hope. "Sons of France, will you help me?" he cried. "'Tis a wrong
even to ask us," said they; "cursed be he who shall not strike with
his whole heart!" And now, as the day drew to the evening, these two
met in combat, King Charles and the Emir. Fierce was the encounter
between them, and many and sore were the blows they dealt the one to
the other. At last it chanced that the bands of each man's saddle
was cleft through, so that they fell both to the ground. Quickly did
they rise to their feet, and drawing their swords, closed fiercely in
fight. It was, indeed, a battle to the death. First the Emir spoke,
saying, "King Charles, you have slain my son; you have wrongfully
invaded my land. Yet if you will pay me homage I will grant it to
you to hold in fief." "That were a foul disgrace," King Charles made
answer; "never will I grant to a heathen either peace or life.
Become a Christian, and you shall have all that I have to give."
"These are but idle words," answered the Emir; "I had sooner die."
And as he spake he dealt King Charles a mighty blow upon the helmet.
The sword brake the iron, and shore away a palm's breadth of the
scalp. The King reeled in his place, and had well-nigh fallen to the
ground. But God willed otherwise, for the angel that guarded him
whispered in his ear, "Charles, what doest thou?" And when he heard
the angel's voice he thought no more of danger or death. Gathering
all his strength into one mighty blow, he severed the enemy's head in
twain. Down to the chin he cleft it, and the Emir fell dead upon the
plain.
So soon as the heathen saw that their leader was slain they fled in
hot haste, and the men of France pursued them even to the walls of
Saragossa. There stood Queen Branimonde, with her priests about her,
waiting and watching for news of the war. But when the Queen saw the
multitude of them that fled she hastened to King Marsilas, and said
to him, "O Sire, our people are vanquished, and the Emir is dead."
When King Marsilas heard these words he turned him to the wall, and
covered his face and wept. So great was his grief that his heart was
broken in his breast, and he died.
As for the town, none of the heathen had any thought of defending it.
They suffered the gates to be broken down without any hindrance, and
the Queen surrendered to King Charles all the towers, great and
small. Of a truth, he works well who works with God.
As soon as it was day King Charles bade his men break down all the
things that the heathen counted holy. As for the people, they were
brought to the water of baptism. Such as were not willing to be
baptized into the faith, these the King caused to be hanged, or slain
with the sword, or burnt with the fire. But the greater part readily
obeyed the King's command, and were made good Christians, one hundred
thousand of them at the least.
After these things the King departed from Saragossa, leaving a
thousand men to keep the town for him. He took Queen Branimonde with
him; also he took the bodies of Roland and Oliver and of Turpin the
Archbishop, and caused them to be honourably buried at Blois.
When King Charles was come back to the fair town of Aachen, it was
told him that a fair lady desired to see him. So he commanded that
she should be brought before him. When she came back she was Alda
the Fair. She said, "Tell me, O King, where is the Earl Roland? He
is promised to be my husband." The King was greatly troubled to hear
these words. He wept and tore his white beard. "My sister," he
said, when he found his speech, "my dear sister. You ask me news of
a dead man. But comfort yourself. Roland we shall see no more, but
you shall have my son Lewis, he that is to be Warden of the Marches,
in his place." "These are strange words," said Alda the Fair; "God
and His blessed saints forbid that I should live now that my Roland
is dead," and as she spake she grew deadly pale, and fell at the
King's feet, and when they took her up, lo! she was dead. When the
King saw this he called to him four countesses and bade them carry
her to a nunnery that was hard by. All that night these noble ladies
watched by her dead body; the day following she was buried by the
altar with great honour.
CHAPTER XXXV
OF THE PUNISHMENT OF GANELON
The King sent messengers to all parts of his dominions, bidding all
the judges learned in the law come to him at his palace at Aachen.
So the judges came as he commanded, and were gathered together on the
Feast of St. Silvester, which was the last day of December. When
they were all assembled he bade the Serjeants fetch Ganelon out of
his prison, and bring him before the judges. When they had done
this, the King said, "My Lords, I would have you judge this man
Ganelon. He came with me when I went with my army to the land of
Spain; he has robbed me of twenty thousand men of France; he has
robbed me of Roland my nephew, whom we shall see no more, and of
Oliver the courteous knight, and of the Twelve Peers of France--and
all this he has done for the sake of money."
"It is true," said Ganelon; "may a curse fall on me if I deny it.
But listen; Roland did me wrong in the matter of gold and silver.
Therefore I sought to revenge myself upon him; and I compassed his
death. That I confess; but I deny that I wrought any treason." So
Ganelon spake, as he stood before the King. He was of a fair
presence, and had been a noble knight if only he had been true of
heart.
Ganelon spake again, saying, "I beseech you, my lords, to hear my
defence. When I was in the King's army I served him loyally and
well. But my nephew Roland cherished in his heart a great hatred of
me, and would have done me to death. Did he not bring it about that
I was sent on an embassy to King Marsilas? If I escaped, it was of
my own contriving. Thereupon I bade defiance to Roland and to Oliver
and to all his company, as the King and all here present will bear
witness. This was revenge, I confess, but I affirm it was not
treason."
Now there had come to the support of Ganelon thirty men of his
kindred, of whom the chief was a certain Pinabel. A great orator was
this Pinabel, when there was need of pleading a cause, and a good
soldier also, when there was need of arms. To him said Ganelon, "I
trust in you, and you only; you can deliver me from dishonour and
death." "You shall have a champion," answered Pinabel; "the first
man that shall pronounce against you the sentence of death, to him
will I give the lie with the edge of this sword." Thereupon Ganelon
fell at his feet and thanked him.
A great company from many regions were gathered together to the King
at Aachen; men from Saxony and from Bavaria, and from Poitou,
Normans, and French, and Germans from beyond the Rhine. And of all
none had more favour for Ganelon than the barons of Auvergne. "Let
the matter rest where it is," said they. "We will beseech the King
to show mercy to Ganelon. Roland is dead, and all the gold and
silver in the world will not bring him back. As for fighting, it is
sheer folly." To this all the barons agreed--all save one, Thierry,
to wit, that was brother to Geoffrey of Anjou. Thereupon the barons
of Auvergne went to the King and said, "Sire, we beseech you, to hold
the Count quit of this charge. Henceforth he will serve you with all
good faith and loyalty. Suffer him to live, for he is a nobleman.
As for Roland, he is dead and neither gold nor silver will bring him
back." "You are nothing but traitors, all of you!" cried the King in
great anger. But when he saw how the barons favoured these words, he
was greatly troubled. Thereupon Thierry, that was brother to
Geoffrey of Anjou, stood before him, and said, "Trouble not yourself,
my good lord. Beyond all doubt, this Ganelon is a traitor. Though
Roland may have done him wrong, for your sake he should have suffered
him to go unscathed. Therefore I pronounce sentence of death upon
him, that he be hanged by the heels till he die, and that they throw
his carcase to the dogs. This is the just punishment of traitors.
And if any kinsman of his say me nay, then will I give him the lie
with the edge of the sword." So spake the Count Thierry, and all the
men of France cried with one voice, "It is well said."
Pinabel, when he heard these words, came near to the King. "Sire,"
said he, "bid them cease from this clamour. The Count Thierry has
given his judgment; I, for my part, say that he has lied. Let us put
the matter to the trial of the sword." "So be it," answered the
King; "but I must have hostages." Thereupon thirty kinsmen of the
Count offered themselves. And the King, on his part offered hostages
also.
First the two champions made confession and received absolution.
Also they gave great alms to the poor. After this they armed
themselves for the battle. There is a great plain near to the city
of Aachen; on this the two champions met to do battle, the one for
the good name of Roland and his comrades, the other for Ganelon.
First they charged with their spears in rest. So equally matched
were they that neither gained any advantage in the encounter. The
spurs of both were broken; the corslets of both were broken through,
and the belts of the horses were so torn that the saddles turned in
their place. So the two champions were unhorsed. Quickly did they
leap to their feet, and fall to with their swords. Mighty blows did
they both deal, and the men of France were in great fear. Then
Pinabel cried aloud, "Take back your words, Count Thierry, I will be
your friend and comrade, and divide my wealth with you, if only you
will make Ganelon friends with the King." "Far be it from me!"
answered Thierry. "Never will I do such a thing. God shall judge
between us." After a while he spake again; "Pinabel, you are a true
knight, strong, and of a noble presence, and all men know your
courage. Have done with this battle. I will make peace between you
and the King. As for Ganelon, let him have his deserts." "God
forbid," answered Pinabel, "that I should desert my kinsman." So the
champions turned again to the duel. First Pinabel struck a mighty
blow, and wounded Thierry on the right cheek, coming near to slay him
outright. But God preserved him, for was he not champion of the
right! Then Thierry, in his turn, smote his adversary. On the
helmet fell the blow, cleaving it in twain, and the skull beneath, so
that the man's brain was scattered on the earth.
Then came the punishment. The King asked, "What shall we do with
those that pledged themselves for the traitor's innocence?" "Let
them be hanged," answered the nobles. And this was done. As for
Ganelon, they lashed his limbs to four horses, so that he was torn
into four pieces. This was the end of the traitor.
CHAPTER XXXVI
HOW KING CHARLES SENT HUON ON AN ERRAND
King Charles, being now advanced in years and desiring rest, was
minded to lay down his power. He called, therefore, his Barons
together and said to them, "I am weary of my kingship. Say now to
which of my two sons, Charlot and Lewis, I shall resign it. For
Lewis indeed is over young, and Charlot is not of such conditions as
to be fit for such dignity." The Barons answered, "Sire, let us
consider the matter by ourselves." So they went apart and considered
it, and it seemed meet to them that Prince Charlot should be King.
Now there was among the Barons a certain Amaury, who was of kin to
the traitor Ganelon. This Amaury said to the King, "It would be well
to try the Prince Charlot. Now there is the Duchy of Bordeaux, whose
Princes, Huon and Gerard, have not yet taken the oath to you. If you
will give me some soldiers I will bring them prisoners hither, and
your son Charlot shall have their land. This shall be his trial
before he have the kingdom of France."
But the Duke Naymes, being both wise and true of heart, said to the
King, "This is no good counsel of Amaury. The Princes are young,
and, maybe, they have not failed in their duty to you of set purpose,
but rather unknowingly. Send therefore messengers to Bordeaux and
bid them come to your Court. If they obey, well; but if not, then
you shall deal with them by Amaury's counsel."
So the King sent messengers to Bordeaux, and the Princes received
them with great honour. And when they had delivered their message,
the Duchess said, "I thank the King; my sons will certainly come to
do him homage when I shall have made them ready for their journey."
So the messengers went back to the King and told him these words, and
he was very glad, and said, "A good tree puts forth good fruit; Duke
Sevyn of Bordeaux was a good man, and his sons are good men also.
But as for this mischief-maker Amaury, I banish him from the land of
France."
Then went Amaury to Prince Charlot and said: "I had thought to win
for you the Duchy of Bordeaux. But the Duke Naymes has thwarted me.
Nevertheless, the lands may yet be yours if only we can be rid of the
Princes Huon and Gerard. Let us fall on them when they ride this
way."
These two, then, lay in wait in a wood by which they knew the two
should pass. Now Amaury's purpose was double, either that Huon and
his brother should be slain, or if they should slay Charlot, then
they should be accused to the King of this deed and suffer
accordingly. So now he said to Charlot, "Yonder are Huon and Gerard;
ride out against them, for they are but weaklings." To his men he
said, "Let the Prince go alone; he needs not your help."
So Charlot rode forth and held the way by which the two brothers must
pass. Then Huon said to his brother, "Go now and see what this
knight demands; if he ask for toll, being master of the way, we will
pay it." So Gerard rode forward. Prince Charlot said to him, "Who
are you?" Gerard answered, "We are sons of Sevyn that was Duke of
Bordeaux, on whom God have mercy." "Then," said the Prince, "you are
sons of a villain. Sevyn took from me three castles, and I could
never have justice of him. Now, therefore, you shall suffer for this
wrong." "Sir," answered Gerard, "you see that I am without arms. It
were a foul shame if you should slay me. But if you have suffered
wrong we will make you amends." "I will have no amends," cried the
Prince, "but vengeance." And when Gerard turned to flee, being
unarmed, and fearing for his life, he rode at him and smote him with
his spear, so that he fell to the ground as one dead.
When Huon saw this deed he was greatly troubled, thinking that his
brother was slain. Spurring his horse, he rode with all haste, and
overtook the Prince ere ever he came to the wood. He cried, "Who are
you that have slain my brother without any cause?" Charlot answered,
"I am son of Duke Thierry," for he would not be known; also he had
disguised his shield, "and this I have done because your father took
from me three castles, and I could never have justice of him." Huon
said, "You are a false knight and a murderer, and I defy you." Then
he wrapped his scarlet cloak about his arm and drew his sword, for
other arms or armour he had none, and rode against the Prince. The
Prince, on his part, spurred his horse and charged Huon with his
spear in rest. He drave his spear through the cloak and through the
gown that Huon wore, and through the shirt that was under the gown,
but the body he missed. Huon, on his part, raising his sword in both
his hands, smote Charlot as he passed so fierce a blow that he brake
his helmet in twain. So, the steel entering his brain, he fell dead
upon the ground.
Then Huon, lighting from his horse, searched for Gerard's wound, and
finding that it was of less account than he had thought, bound it up
with a strip of his shirt. Then he set him on an ambling nag that he
had in his train, that he might ride the more easily. So the two
went forward on their way to Paris, for Huon would make complaint to
the King that, having a safe conduct, he had been so foully assailed.
Amaury's knights said to him, "What shall we do now? The Prince lies
dead on the plain. It were ill done if he that slew him should be
suffered to escape." Amaury answered, "We will take up the body and
carry it to Paris, and so accuse him before the King." So he and his
knights followed Huon and his company, carrying the body of Charlot
with them.
Huon, when he was come to Paris, went in and stood before the King,
and told him what things had befallen him. First he said, "Sire, see
this my brother, how he has been wounded." And as he spoke he pulled
aside Gerard's doublet and his shirt, and showed the wound beneath.
And the lad fell in a swoon before the King and his lords, so great
was the pain that he suffered. The King had a great pity for the
wounded man, and bade fetch his own surgeon that he might dress the
wound. He said also, "If I find out the man that has done this deed,
I will deal with him in such fashion as shall never be forgotten."
After this Huon told the story how he had been assailed, and how he
had slain his adversary. When the King heard it he said, "Now were
this false knight my own son Charlot, whom I love with all my heart,
I should not deny that he had met with his deserts."
While the King was yet speaking there was heard a great outcry in the
street, for the body of the Prince was being carried through the town
and the people lamented over it. The King said to the Duke Naymes,
"Go now and see what this outcry may mean." So the Duke went, but
when he came to the great gate of the palace there was the body of
Prince Charlot lying on a shield and borne by four knights.
When the body was brought in and laid down before the King he said in
a loud voice, "Tell me now who has done this deed and for what
cause." Amaury answered, "The man who did this deed sits yonder. He
is none other than Huon of Bordeaux." When the King heard these
words he would have fallen on Huon and slain him, only the Duke
Naymes and others of his Barons held him back.
Then said Huon to the King, "Believe me, Sire, that I knew not this
knight to be your son; verily, had I known it I should not have come
to make my complaint to you as I have done this day. Rather should I
have fled away and hidden myself as best I could."
Then said the Duke Naymes to the King, "Let now Amaury stand forth
and tell us why he lay in ambush in the wood with your son, and what
purpose he had in his mind."
And Amaury stood forth and told this tale: "Sir, your son sent a
message to me, desiring that I should go a-hawking with him. So I
went with him, only we went armed, for I feared the men of Ardennes
lest they should fall upon us. It chanced that we came to a little
wood, and there we cast our hawks, and one of the hawks was lost.
While we sought for it there came by Huon and his brother, and Huon
had the hawk on his fist. Then your son full courteously required
his own again, and Huon for answer drew his sword and slew your son,
which when he had done he rode away so fast that we could not
overtake him; and now I challenge him to say that he knew not the
knight that demanded the hawk to be your son."
Then said Huon, "I will prove that this Amaury is a false liar, and
will make him confess that I knew not the knight whom I slew to be
the King's son. And for my surety I give my brother Gerard, than
whom there is none nearer of kin to me." Amaury on his part gave as
surety two nephews that he had.
The King said to the Duke Naymes, "Let them prepare a field where
these two shall fight, and till it be prepared shut them up in a
tower, and let a hundred knights be ready to keep the field when it
is prepared. For I will not suffer my son to be buried till the
vanquished man be hanged, if he have not been already slain in the
field."
When all was ready, the two champions took each his oath upon the
holy relics that he had spoken the truth, and then made themselves
ready for the fight. But men noted that Amaury, when he would have
mounted his horse, stumbled so that he had well-nigh fallen to the
ground. Then, after proclamation made that no one should presume
under pain of death to make any sign to either of the combatants, the
King stood up and said, "My pleasure is that if no confession be made
of the truth, then the vanquisher shall forfeit all his land and be
banished from this realm." And from this judgment he would not
depart, though the Duke Naymes and the other Barons did protest that
the King was unjust.
After this the two knights joined battle. First they charged on
horseback, breaking both of them their spears, and with so great a
shock that their horses fell to the ground. Then both of them rose
to their feet, and fought with their swords. First Amaury smote Huon
on the helmet so strongly that he well-nigh stunned him. Indeed Huon
was fain to rest for a space on one knee. When Amaury saw this, he
cried, "Huon, you cannot hold out longer; it were well for you to
confess your ill-doing." But Huon answered, "Be silent, false
traitor," and he made as if he would strike him on the helmet; but
when Amaury raised his sword to guard the blow, then Huon turned
suddenly his stroke, and smote the man under his guard so that he
lopped off his left arm. When Amaury saw that he was so disabled, he
bethought him of a base device. He said to Huon, "I do confess that
I spoke falsely and that you knew not that the knight was Charlot.
Therefore I yield me to your grace. Come, therefore, and receive my
sword, which I willingly yield to you." But when Huon came near to
take the sword, Amaury smote him on the arm, thinking to do him the
same damage that he had himself endured. This stroke he missed, yet
made a great wound, so that the blood flowed down. Then said Huon,
"Take this, false traitor!" and he slew the man with one stroke, but
for repentance or confession there was no space of time.
Then said the King, "Did the vanquished man confess?" And when he
heard that no confession had been made he said to Huon, "I banish you
for ever from this realm. Never shall you hold one foot of land in
Bordeaux or Aquitaine." Nor would he abate one jot from this
sentence, for all that Huon begged him to have mercy, and the Duke
Naymes with the other Barons were urgent with him that he should not
do this great injustice. Nevertheless at the last when he saw that
he was left alone, for the Duke with his fellows had departed from
the palace, he was constrained to relent somewhat from his purpose.
So he called the Barons, saying, "Come back to me, for I must
perforce yield to your desire." To Huon he said, for the young man
knelt before him with much humbleness, "Will you do that thing which
I command?" And Huon answered, "Sire, there is nothing in the whole
world that I would not do at your bidding, if I might thereby be
restored to your grace. Verily I would go to the gates of hell, as
did Hercules, if you should send me thither." The King answered,
"Maybe, Huon, I shall send you to a worse place than that to which
went Hercules, for of fifteen messengers that have already gone
thither there has not come back to me a single one. Hear then what I
shall say: you shall go to the city of Babylon and enter the palace
of Gaudys that is Admiral of the city when he sits at his dinner.
And you shall defy him, and shall take the sceptre from his hand.
This sceptre shall you render into my hands. After this I will take
you again into favour, and will give back to you your lands." The
Barons said, "Sir, you must greatly desire the death of him whom you
send on such an errand." The King answered, "Let him never come back
to France except he bring the Admiral's sceptre with him." Nor would
he grant him any further grace, save that ten knights should go with
him. So Huon made ready to go.
CHAPTER XXXVII
HOW HUON MET WITH KING OBERON
There is no need to tell all Huon's journeyings after he had departed
from Paris. Let it suffice to say that he went to Rome and there
received the blessing of the Pope; and that he took ship at
Brandys,[1] and, traversing the Inland Sea, so came to Holy Land,
and, having landed at Jaffa, he came on the second day to Jerusalem.
And he had for his comrade a certain Garyn, who was his mother's
brother, for Huon was son to Duke Sevyn of Bordeaux. At Jerusalem,
when they had worshipped at the Holy Sepulchre, Huon said to his
uncle, "I thank you much for your great kindness in that you have
borne me company so far. Now then return to your lady, my aunt, and
to your children." "Not so," answered Garyn, "I will not leave you
till you shall return yourself to your own land."
[1] Brindisi.
From Jerusalem they passed through the desert suffering much from
heat and thirst. On their way they saw a hut, in the door of which
sat an old man with a long white beard, who, when Huon saluted him in
the name of God, first began to weep, and then caught Huon's hand,
and kissed it many times. "'Tis thirty years," he said, "since I
have seen the face of a Christian man. And now looking upon you I
remember me of a noble peer whom I knew long since in the land of
France, Duke Sevyn of Bordeaux. But now I pray you rest awhile."
So Huon and Garyn tied their horses to trees, and sat down and talked
with the old man. And when Huon had told his story, then the old man
related how he had been sent on pilgrimage to Jerusalem, because he
had slain a knight in a tourney, and how on his way home he had been
taken prisoner by Saracens and carried to Babylon, from which place
he had escaped after two years. "But," said he, "I have not been
able to return home, but have dwelt in this place ever since."
Huon said, "It is to Babylon that I go. Tell me now what road I
should follow." The old man answered, "There are two roads to
Babylon, one of forty days' journey and one of fifteen only. But the
shorter road is beset by a certain Oberon, King of the Fairies. This
Oberon is very pleasant to look upon, and his voice very sweet, but
be sure that you do not speak to him, for he that speaks to him is
lost for ever. Yet, if you will not speak to him, he will hinder
your journey by his magic. I counsel you, therefore, that you take
not the shorter way."
This counsel did not please Huon, who said, "If I can gain so much
time by only keeping my tongue from speech, I will surely do so."
"If this be your will," answered the old man, whose name, it should
be said, was Gerames, "I will go with you."
The next day they set forth. At noon they rested awhile under an
oak, and as they rested, Oberon came by, very richly clad in a
garment garnished with precious stones, and holding in his hand a
very precious bow. A horn also hung to his neck by two chains of
gold. There never was such a horn in this world. One note of it
could cure all kinds of sickness; another could satisfy hunger and
thirst, yet another could lighten all heaviness of heart, and a
fourth could draw any one that heard it even against his will.
As Oberon rode by, he blew a note upon his horn, and when he heard
it, Huon forgot all the hunger and thirst that he had. And Oberon
cried, "I pray you speak to me." But Huon, mindful of the counsel of
Gerames, answered not a word, but rode away. Then Oberon in his
anger blew again on his horn, and straightway there arose a great
storm, so that they could scarcely win their way against it; after
the storm there appeared a great river in their way, very black and
deep, and rushing with a terrible noise; also on the other side of
the river there appeared a very fair castle, which when they had
looked on it awhile vanished out of their sight.
[Illustration: HUON MEETING WITH OBERON.]
Gerames said, "Ride on now, taking no account of these things." And
this they did. When they had ridden some five leagues, and had seen
nothing more, Huon said, "We are well escaped from this Oberon."
Gerames answered, "Not so; we shall see him again." And while he
spake, they saw Oberon on the other side of a bridge by which they
must pass. Huon said, "See, there is the devil who makes all this
trouble." Oberon heard these words, and cried, "Sir, you do me
wrong; I am no devil, nor of an ill nature, and I entreat you that
you speak with me." But Huon answered him not a word.
After certain days, Oberon appeared again and said, "I conjure you by
the name of God that you speak to me. I know who you are, and why
you are come hither"--and he told him all that had befallen him, the
slaying of Charlot and the anger of the King--"and be sure that you
cannot accomplish the thing for which you are come, save by my help."
"Sir," answered Huon, "you are welcome." And Oberon said, "You will
win for yourself a great reward by those words."
He had scarcely said these words when there rose up before them a
very fair palace, and in the palace there was a hall, and in the hall
a table of gold, set with cups and plates and dishes and all manner
of meats thereon. At this they sat down, and feasted joyously. And
Oberon told Huon how he came to be as he was, for he was but as a
child to look upon. "When I was christened," said he, "my father
gave a royal feast to all the people, and called the fairies also.
But one fairy was not called, and she, being, greatly angered, said,
'This child shall not grow one whit after his third year.' But
afterwards repenting said, 'Though this be so, yet there shall not be
a fairer child than he." And when they were satisfied, Huon said,
"Have we your leave to depart?" Oberon answered, "You shall go when
you wish, but first I would show you something." And he said to a
knight, "Go, fetch me my cup." So the knight brought him a cup.
This Oberon took in his hands, and made over it the sign of the
cross, and straightway the cup was filled to the brim with wine.
"See," said he, "this cup. If a man be in deadly sin, there shall be
never a drop of wine in the cup when he holds it; but if he be out of
sin, then it shall fill for him. Take it now and make a trial of
it." Huon answered, "I count not myself to be worthy of such a
thing; yet thus much will I say, that I do repent me of all that I
have done amiss, and that I forgive all men what they may have done
amiss to me." Then he took the cup in his hands, and straightway it
was full of wine. Then Oberon said, "Take this cup, for you are
worthy of it, and this horn also. But beware that you use it not
except of necessity." And when he had looked upon Huon awhile, he
said, "Huon, I love you well, but I foresee that you will suffer many
things by reason of your folly." And he suffered him and his
companions to depart.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
OF THE END OF THE FALSE DUKE MACAIRE
Huon and his companions rode on till they came to the city of
Tormont. At the gate they met a man with a bow in his hand, who had
been hunting in the wood. Huon saluted him in the name of God, and
would know by what name the city was called. When the man heard the
salutation, he said, "Sir, speak softly, I pray you; if the Duke of
this city should know you to be Christian man, he would assuredly
slay you. I am a Christian man myself, but keep it hidden for fear
of my life."
"I am journeying to Babylon," said Huon, "and would fain tarry a
night in the city, for I and my company are weary." "Sir," answered
the stranger, "I counsel you not to tarry; should the Duke know of
your coming, you would hardly save your lives." But Huon said, "The
day is far spent, and we are weary. Nor does a wise traveller leave
a good town." Then said the stranger, "If you are purposed to do
this thing, I will take you to a lodging, where you shall be safe."
So the man took Huon and his companions to the house of the Provost
of the city.
Huon greeted the Provost, as he had greeted the man at the gate, and
the Provost answered him in the same fashion: "Speak softly," he
said, "for if the Duke should hear of this, you would be lost.
Nevertheless you are right welcome to my house." Then he bade Huon
and his companions enter, and when they had refreshed themselves,
they supped with great plenty. Supper being ended, Huon said to
Gerames, "Cause now that proclamation be made that any man in the
city that will may come and sup free of all cost. And go you into
the city, and buy bread and meat and other things needful, and I,
with my cup, will give them drink." And so it was done, and there
was never a beggar or vagabond in the whole city but came to the
supper. And Huon ministered to them wine from the cup.
Now it should be told that the Duke of the city of Tormont was by
name Macaire, and was uncle to Huon. But he had forsworn his
Christian faith, and was full of hatred against all Christian men.
About this time he chanced to send his steward into the city to buy
provisions. But when the steward found that everything had been
sold, he came again to his master, and said, "I can get nothing in
the town for your supper. There is a young man lodged in the
Provost's house that has bought all the victuals that were in the
city, and has feasted therewith all the rogues and vagabonds in it."
When the Duke heard this he said, "I will go and see this fellow."
And he bade his knights arm themselves, and come with him. As he
went there came one that had been at the supper, who said, "There is
a young man that has a most wonderful cup. If all the people from
the east to the west should drink thereof, it would not fail." Then
the Duke said to himself, "I will have that cup." So he and his men
went to the Provost's house.
When the Provost saw the Duke coming, he said to Huon, "Here comes
the Duke; I know not how you will fare." "Trouble not yourself,"
answered Huon; and when the Duke came into the house, he said to him
in a cheerful voice, "Sir, you are welcome." "What mean you by this
tumult? Why did you bid all these rogues to supper?" "Sir,"
answered Huon, "I am bound on a journey to the Red Sea; these poor
folk I have thus entertained that they may pray for me that I may
come back safely." "This is foolishness," said the Duke; "what will
their prayers profit you if you lose your head?" "Sir," answered
Huon, "be content. Sit down now with your knights, and sup with us;
if I have done aught amiss I will make due amends."
So the Duke and his knights sat down, seeming to be content. And
when they had supped, Huon serving them all the time full
courteously, he took the cup and showed it to the Duke, saying, "Is
not this cup empty?" "'Tis so," said the Duke, "I see nothing
therein." Then Huon made the sign of the cross over the cup, and
straightway it was full of wine. But when he gave it to the Duke,
lo! in a moment it was empty. Said the Duke, "What magic is this?"
"'Tis no magic," answered Huon. "Because you are in sin, therefore
the cup became empty in your hands."
The Duke was not a little wroth; nevertheless he dissembled his
anger, and said, "Tell me now your name and your kindred, and of what
country you are." And when he heard these things, he said, "Fair
sir, you are my nephew; you should lodge nowhere but with me." "I
thank you, sir," answered Huon. But Gerames said, "'Tis safer
lodging with the Provost."
On the morrow Huon would have departed, but the Duke said, "Tarry
awhile, fair nephew, till my Barons shall come, for I would have them
go with you to your journey's end." "I am content," answered Huon,
"if you will have it so."
The Duke, purposing to slay his nephew, said to a certain Geoffrey, a
knight who had come with him from France, and had also renounced the
Christian faith, "Bring now five or six score of soldiers, and let
them slay this Huon and all his train. Let not one escape, if you
would not lose my favour." To this Geoffrey consented.
But when Geoffrey was gone out from the Duke's presence, he said to
himself, "This is a villainous deed that the Duke would have me to
do, the slaying of his own nephew. I remember what great service
this man's father, the Duke Sevyn, did me when I was in France,
saving my life when I was overpowered by my enemies. It were a
shameful thing to deal with his son in this fashion."
Now there were in the castle some six score prisoners out of the land
of France who had been taken captive on the seas. Geoffrey, having
charge of these prisoners, for he was in high authority under the
Duke, went to the dungeons where they lay, and said to them, "Sirs,
if you would save your lives, follow me." This they were well
content to do. So he took them to the chamber where the arms were
kept, and armed them all. Having done this he said, "Sirs, now it is
time to show your courage, if you would have freedom instead of
bondage." And he told them how the Duke had sent for pagan men to
slay his nephew. "But you," he said, "when the time comes, will not
slay but succour him."
So the prisoners, being clad in armour, and having swords by their
sides, followed Geoffrey to the hall where the Duke and Huon sat at
dinner; and when they had entered the hall, Huon said to his uncle,
"Are these the Barons who shall conduct me on my journey?" for he was
very desirous to depart. The Duke, thinking that Geoffrey had
fulfilled his commandment, said, "Not so, my nephew; these are
soldiers whom I have sent for that they may slay you."
When Huon heard this he stood upon his feet, and put his helmet on
his head and prepared to fight for his life. Geoffrey, on his part,
said to the prisoners, "Show yourselves men, fair sirs, and suffer
not a single pagan to escape!" And the prisoners fell on the company
that was gathered at dinner with the Duke, and slew them.
As for the Duke, when he saw how he had been deceived, he fled by a
secret way that he knew, and, leaping from a window, so escaped. But
Geoffrey and the Frenchmen shut to the gates, and drew up the
drawbridge, thinking to defend themselves in the castle, for they
knew that the Duke would not be content till he had recovered it.
In no long time the Duke, having gathered together a great company of
men, laid siege to the castle. He had engines of war with him, and
ladders wherewith his men might climb on to the walls and make a
breach with pikes and mattocks. And this the pagans did, and for all
the valour of Huon and Geoffrey and the prisoners the castle was very
like to be taken.
Gerames said to Huon, "Now, sir, it is time for you to blow your
horn, for unless there come to us some help we shall scarce see
another day." Huon answered, "I would willingly do so, but my horn I
have not, for I left it with the Provost."
Meanwhile the Provost had come to the Duke, and said to him, "Sir,
this is but ill counsel that you are pulling down your own castle.
Make peace with your nephew on this condition, that he and his
company straightway depart from out of your city. Let me go,
therefore, and persuade him." "You shall go," answered the Duke.
So the Provost, coming to the castle gate, said that he greatly
desired to see Huon, who coming, desired to know who he was. When he
heard that he was the Provost, he said to him, "Now if you would
serve me, give me the horn which I left in your keeping." "That is
easily done," answered the Provost, and he drew it from his bosom and
gave it to Huon.
Gerames, though he had counselled the blowing of the horn, when he
saw Huon now ready to do so, repented, for he mistrusted King Oberon,
and would gladly have done without his help. He said, therefore, to
Huon, "Sir, I doubt whether you are even now in such a strait that
you should blow the horn. Haply King Oberon would not desire that it
should be done."
"What mean you?" answered Huon. "Shall I tarry till I am slain
before I ask for help?" and putting the horn to his lips he blew it
with all his might.
King Oberon heard the blast of the horn where he sat in his city of
Mommure, and he said to himself, "Doubtless my friend has need of me;
I wish that I were with him and ten thousand men with me." No sooner
had he wished it than he and the ten thousand men were in the city of
Tormont. A great slaughter did they make of the pagans, but they
that were willing to be christened King Oberon saved alive. As for
the Duke, he was slain without mercy, for he was an evil man, and had
sinned against knowledge, and they hanged his body on a gibbet that
was set upon the wall, that his end might serve as an example for
others.
After these things Oberon took leave of Huon. At the same time he
said, "I foresee that you will run into many dangers by your
rashness. I counsel you, therefore, that you undertake no adventures
but such as are necessary." To these words Huon answered, that when
he departed from France, he had resolved that he would refuse no
adventure, how perilous soever it might be. "That is foolishness,"
said Oberon; "and mark this: if you blow the horn when you are on any
of such adventures, I will not heed it, no, not though you should
even break the horn in the blowing of it." "Sir," said Huon, when he
heard these words, "you will do your pleasure, as I will do mine
own." But Oberon answered nothing. So these two parted in anger.
CHAPTER XXXIX
HOW HUON, HAVING SLAIN A GIANT, CAME TO BABYLON
After these things it was told Huon that there was a certain tower
not far from the city of Tormont, a very marvellous place where there
dwelt a giant, Angolafer by name. The gate of this tower, for so the
story ran, was kept by two men of brass, each of whom held in his
hand an iron flail. These two beat with their flails without ceasing
for one single moment, the one striking while the other ceased; and
this they did so quickly that not even a swallow could fly between
them without taking harm. But if a man could by any means pass into
the tower, and overcome the giant, then he would find treasures
without end.
When Huon heard of these things, he thought in himself, "This is an
adventure after my own heart." So he made his way to the tower.
When he saw the men of brass striking with their flails, he wondered
much how he might win by them. After a while he spied a bason of
gold, tied with a chain to a marble pillar; on this he struck three
great strokes with his sword, for he said to himself, "If I may come
to speech with some human creature 'twere better than dealing with
these men of brass." And so it fell out. There was a certain damsel
in the tower, Sybil by name, whom the giant kept prisoner, and she,
hearing the sound, ran to a window and looked out. When she saw
Huon, she said, "Who is this? He is a fair knight. I judge him to
be of France, for I see on his shoulder three crosses, gules; 'twere
a pity that he should come to harm; yet what could fifty knights do
against this giant? Yet if he is come for some good end, I would
fain help him."
Now there was a handle which, being turned, stayed the beating of the
flails. The Lady Sybil thought within herself, "Dare I do this
thing? Yet it were better to die than to remain in this bondage."
Also she heard the breathing of the giant, as of one in deep sleep.
Thereupon she turned the handle, and Huon entered the palace. But
when he passed from the gates to the hall, and from the hall to a
chamber, and from this to other chambers, and saw no one, only dead
men lying here and there, he was not a little astonished.
After he had so wandered awhile, he heard the voice of a damsel that
wept, which sound he followed till he came to the place where she
sat. "Why weep you?" he said. "I weep," she answered, "because you
are in great peril. Know that I am a Christian woman, though I have
not talked with a Christian these seven years. My father, making
pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre, was shipwrecked in this place.
Him, with all his train, the giant slew, but me he kept alive."
"Tell me, lady," said Huon, "who you are?" "I am daughter," she
answered, "to Guynemer, that was Earl of St. Omer, and married to a
sister of Duke Sevyn of Bordeaux." "Then," said he, "you are my
kinswoman, for I am the elder son of the same Duke Sevyn;" and he
greeted her full courteously. "And now I am on the way to the
Admiral of Babylon, having been sent on an errand by Charlemagne.
But tell me of this giant." "Nay," said she, "you would do well to
depart while he sleeps." But Huon would have none of this counsel.
"I should take to myself shame," said he, "if I should fear this
villain." "If you are so minded," answered Sybil, "you will find him
in the fourth chamber from this." When Huon was come to the fourth
chamber, he saw the giant, a most monstrous creature to behold,
asleep on a bed, and cried aloud, "Rise up, thou heathen dog, or I
will strike off thy head!" The giant answered, "Not a hundred such
as you would prevail over me were I armed; even now I fear you not."
"Gird on your armour," said Huon, "I would not fight with a naked
man." "That is bravely and courteously said," quoth the giant.
"Tell me your name and country." Huon answered, "I am a poor knight
of France, whom Charlemagne has sent on an errand to the Admiral of
Babylon." "From that same Admiral," said the giant, "I have taken
not one town only, but many. This tower I took from Oberon, who is a
great Prince in these parts, and with it a suit of armour which no
one may wear save he be without guilt. Now, for your courtesy, you
shall try it, if you will."
Then Huon took the armour, and put it on him, and lo! he bare it
easily. "I see," said the giant, "that you are a worthy knight; now
that you have proved the armour, deliver it to me again." "That will
not I," answered Huon, "not for twelve of the fairest cities that are
between this place and Paris." "Friend," said the giant again, "if
you will but deliver to me the armour, I will let you depart hence
without harm; also I will give you a ring of gold which I had of this
same Admiral of Babylon. Whoso has this ring can pass where he will."
"I owe you no thanks for the gift," said Huon, "for the ring I can
take at my pleasure, when you shall have been slain." Thereat the
giant, in great wrath, made at him with a falchion that he carried in
his hand, but missing his stroke, he smote a pillar that stood hard
by so sharply that the steel fixed itself in the stone. When Huon
saw what had befallen, he smote the giant and struck off both his
hands. The giant turned to flee, but the Lady Sybil, for she had
come desiring to save the Christian knight, threw a staff between his
legs so that he fell headlong to the earth: when Huon saw him lie
thus, he smote off his head with one stroke of his sword.
This done, Huon looked forth from a window of the tower, and cried to
his comrades, where they stood in no little fear, "Come up hither, I
have slain the giant." Then the Lady Sybil turned the handle as
before, so that the flails were stayed and they entered the tower.
The day being now far spent, they sat down to supper, and made good
cheer.
On the morrow, Huon said to his companions, "Tarry you here in the
tower with the Lady Sybil, for I will go to Babylon alone. If I come
not again in fifteen days, then take ship, and depart to the land of
France." But Gerames said, "Not so, my lord; we will tarry for you
the space of a whole year." And to this they all agreed.
Huon, therefore, journeyed to Babylon. When he came near to the
city, he perceived that the woods were crowded with wayfarers, some
that went a-hawking and some that came back from their sport, and
merchants, and travellers, with horses and carriages. He marvelled
to see them, for they were strange of aspect to him; and they also
marvelled at him, for the fashion of his armour was not the fashion
of their country. So much was he occupied with the sight, that the
giant's ring passed wholly from his mind, from which forgetting there
came to him, as will be seen, much trouble.
When he came to the Admiral's palace, he cried to the porter that he
should open the gate. The porter would know whether he was a
Saracen. "That am I," answered Huon, thinking that otherwise he
would not be suffered to enter. So the porter opened to him. Then
Huon straightway remembered the ring, and said to himself, "I have
sinned in lying to this fellow, and this to no purpose, having the
ring."
After this he came to a second gate, and a porter thereat, who opened
to him at the sight of the ring; and after the second, a third, and
after the third, a fourth, which he passed in the same way.
Being now in the very middle of the palace, he bethought him, "There
are doubtless many Saracens in this place, and I only a Christian.
'Tis time to blow the horn and I may have help from King Oberon."
Thereupon he blew a great blast.
King Oberon heard the blast where he sat in his palace. But he said
to himself, "There has been a lie upon the lips that blew this horn,
for the note is false. Though he burst his throat with blowing, I
will not go to help him."
When the Admiral heard it, he said to his lords that sat with him,
"There is a magician in the palace. Go bring him to me before he do
us any mischief."
Huon was not a little troubled when he found that no one came to his
blowing of the horn. "I am in an evil case," he said, "nor shall I
see my people or my country any more. Nevertheless it becomes a man
to keep a good courage." And when the Admiral's lords came to him,
he took no heed of them, but walked straight forward, and they feared
to lay hands on him.
When he came to where the Admiral sat, he made no obeisance, but drew
his sword, and said, "I come from the great King Charles." Before he
could say more, the Admiral cried aloud, "Seize me this villain!"
And the lords made as if they would seize him. Then Huon took the
ring from his finger, and showed it to the Admiral, saying not a word.
When the Admiral saw the ring, he said, "Leave this man alone; he is
here of right." Then Huon said, "I am a Christian man, and I come
from the great King of the Christians. Hear, therefore, the message
that he sends: 'Turn from your false gods; confess the faith of
Christ; acknowledge that you hold your kingdom of me; and send me for
token your royal sceptre. If you will not I will come with an army,
and utterly destroy both you and your people.' This is the King's
message, and I counsel you to take heed thereto."
When the Admiral heard these words, his anger passed all bounds.
"Know," he cried, "that before you fifteen messengers have come to me
making this same demand, and these fifteen have been hanged by the
neck in the very same place; and you shall be the sixteenth." And he
said to his men, "Seize me this fellow." Then Huon, setting his back
to the wall, and drawing his sword, fought with all his might. Many
he slew; but when he had fought for an hour or more, and the number
of the enemy was increased rather than diminished, and he had grown
faint with heat and toil, then he was constrained to yield. So the
Saracens bound him, and set him before the Admiral.
The Admiral said to his lords, "What shall we do with this fellow?"
and the lords answered with one voice, "Let him be slain forthwith."
Nevertheless there was one lord, an old man, and held in great repute
for his wisdom, who did not consent to this counsel. "Sir," said he
to the Admiral, "our law forbids that any man should be put to death
this day. I advise, therefore, that he be kept in custody for a
year; after that we will take counsel about him again. Also there is
another matter that I fain would know. How came this man hither?
Ask him, my lord."
So the Admiral said, "Fellow, declare to me by what means you passed
the gates." Then Huon said to himself, "I will speak no more
falsehoods, though I perish for it." And he held up the ring,
saying, "I passed the gates by virtue of this ring." And he told how
he came by the ring, and how he had slain the giant in the tower.
When the old councillor heard these things, he said to the Admiral,
"Sir, we ought to thank this man rather than harm him, seeing that he
has slain the giant that was wont to do us so much mischief." The
Admiral answered, "I know not how to thank the man who brought me a
message so insolent. But as to the keeping of him alive, it shall be
done as you say. I will not depart from the customs of my
forefathers. Let him be kept in prison for a space." So the
Admiral's yeomen took Huon, and cast him into a dungeon that was
under the palace.
Now it so chanced that when Huon was brought before the Admiral, the
Admiral's fair daughter, Esclairmonde by name, was standing behind a
curtain, where she could hear all the words that were said and could
also see what was done, being herself unseen. This maiden, beholding
Huon, and seeing how fair a knight he was, and how boldly he bare
himself both in the fight and when he was brought before her father,
conceived for him in her heart no small love. When, therefore, she
heard that he was to be slain, she had much ado to refrain herself
from crying out. But when she knew that he was to be put in prison
for a space, she thought within herself how she might help him.
When it was now midnight, and every one in the palace slept, she
issued from her chamber, carrying a torch of wax in her hand. When
she came to the door of the dungeon, by good luck she found the
jailor asleep, and taking his keys, opened the door of the dungeon.
She said to Huon, "Fair sir, I am Esclairmonde, and am daughter to
the Admiral, and I saw you when you were brought before my father,
and also when you fought against his men, and knew you to be a fair
knight and a gallant. Now, therefore, I desire greatly to help you;
nor is there anything which I would not do for your sake," speaking
more boldly because the dungeon was a darksome place, and neither
could she see the knight's face nor could the knight see hers.
When Huon heard the maiden thus speak, he said to himself, "Now must
I be true as becomes a Christian man. I must tell this maiden that
I, being a Christian man, may not have friendship with a Saracen; but
of love I will not speak, lest it should shame her." So he said,
"Fair lady, for fair you must be, seeing that you are so gracious, I
thank you much for your kindness, nor will I refuse such service as
you may find it in your heart to render me. Only you must know that
I, being a Christian man, can have no friendship with a Saracen."
The Lady Esclairmonde, hearing him thus speak, was filled with anger
against him. "If you will not have me for a friend," she said,
"verily you shall have me for an enemy, and will find that you have
chosen the worst part." Then she went out from the dungeon, and said
to the jailor, "See that this fellow have neither meat nor drink for
three days." And the jailor said, "Lady, it shall be done as you
command."
Before the three days were passed, Esclairmonde repented in her heart
that she had done this thing. She went, therefore, to the jailor,
and said to him, "Open the door, for I would speak with this
prisoner." And when he had opened the door, she said to Huon, "Sir
Knight, I do greatly admire your constancy, in that you hold out
against hunger and thirst, which to many, I doubt not, are harder to
be borne than any perils or hurts of battle. Hear me, therefore: I
do promise that if I can escape from this land, I will be christened
as soon as I come to any land where this may be done." Huon answered
her, "You make me right glad, fair lady; I do thank you with all my
heart."
Esclairmonde said to the jailor, "Now set before the prisoner meat
and drink, and take such care of him as you best can. Only tell the
Admiral that the man is dead of hunger." The jailor answered, "It
shall be done as you desire."
CHAPTER XL
HOW HUON RETURNED, HIS ERRAND FULFILLED
When Gerames and the Lady Sybil had tarried for three months in the
tower, and had heard no tidings of Huon, they were greatly troubled
and doubted what they should do. And while they doubted, it chanced
that certain pagans came in a ship bringing tribute to the giant.
When Gerames perceived them, he said to his company, "We do ill to
tarry here, when Huon, it may be, needs our help. Let us take this
ship, therefore, and sail over the sea till we come to Babylon." So
they took the ship, the pagans not being able to hinder them.
When they were come to Babylon, Gerames led his company to the
Admiral's palace, and went in and saluted him where he sat with his
lords, saying, "Now may Mahomet, of whose gift both corn and wine
come to the sons of men, preserve the Admiral Gaudys!" "Friend,"
said the Admiral, "you are welcome to this place. Tell me your name
and country." "I come," answered Gerames, "from the city of
Mombraunt, and I am son to King Ivoryn." Now Ivoryn was brother to
the Admiral. The Admiral rose up from his place and said, "Then are
you doubly welcome. Pray tell me how fares my brother, King Ivoryn?"
"He is in good health," answered Gerames. "And who are these that
are with you?" said the Admiral. "These," said Gerames, "are
Frenchmen, whom the King took when they were sailing on the sea. He
sends them to you for your sport, that on the feast of St. John
Baptist you may set them bound to stakes in the meadow, and let the
archers shoot at them, trying who shall shoot the best. This damsel
whom I have with me shall, if it please you, be put with your
daughter that she may learn the French tongue more perfectly." "All
this," answered the Admiral, "shall be done as you desire. Now, for
the present, put these caitiffs in prison, and see that they have
enough of meat and drink that they die not of famine, as there lately
died in this place one Huon of Bordeaux. A fair knight he was,
albeit he was a Christian."
When Gerames heard these words he was greatly troubled. Such was his
anger that he had much ado to keep himself from running at the
Admiral to slay him; but with a staff that he had, he smote the false
prisoners that he had so hardly that the blood ran down. And they,
for fear of the Admiral, durst not stir; nevertheless they cursed
Gerames in their hearts. Said the Admiral, "Fair nephew, it seems to
me that you have but little love for Christian men." "Even so, sir,"
answered Gerames; "three times a day do I beat them in honour of my
God Mahomet." Then he led the Frenchmen to prison, beating them as
he went, but none of them durst say one word.
As they went, they met the Lady Esclairmonde, who said, "Cousin, I am
right glad of your coming, and now let me tell you of a private
matter, if you will promise to keep it secret." "That will I do
right willingly," answered Gerames. "Listen, then," said the damsel.
"There came to this place some five months since a French knight,
bringing a message from King Charlemagne. Him, my father, taking the
message that he brought very ill, put in prison. I persuaded my
father, for a reason that I had, that this Huon is dead of hunger,
but in truth he is alive, and, indeed, is as well served with meat
and drink as is my father himself."
Gerames made no answer, doubting what might be in the damsel's heart,
and fearing that it might be a device for discovering the truth
concerning himself. He spake no word, therefore, but thrust the
Frenchmen roughly into the prison.
Now the prison was so dark that Huon could not by any means discover
who they might be that had thus been brought into his company. But
in a short space he heard one of them lamenting his hard fate, and
praying to the Lord Christ that He would succour them, "For," said
he, "Thou knowest that we have done no wrong that we should be cast
into this place, having come hither for the sake of our young lord
Huon." When Huon heard this, he knew that they were Frenchmen, and
said, "Tell me now, fair sir, what has befallen you." So the lord
told him his story. And Huon, when he had heard it, said, "I am
Huon, safe, and in good health, thanks to the fair Esclairmonde, who
is, indeed, a Christian damsel at the heart." Then the Frenchmen
began to complain right bitterly concerning Gerames, saying that he
was the worst and cruellest traitor on earth. "Nay," said Huon, "be
content, Gerames has done all this to deliver us, as you will soon
know for a certainty." And so it happened, for Gerames, having had
more talk with the fair Esclairmonde, and having heard that she was
well disposed in her heart to Huon and his companions, came that
night to the dungeon, and declared the truth. "Only," said he, "we
must wait awhile till there shall be a fitting opportunity."
After seven days there came to the palace a great giant, Agrapart by
name, brother to Angolafer, whom Huon had slain. The purpose of his
coming was to demand from the Admiral the tribute that had been paid
by custom to his brother. Now the Admiral was sitting at dinner when
he came, and the giant came to the table, and said, "You are a false
traitor, for you harbour a villain that by some foul means slew my
brother Angolafer." And when he had so spoken, he reached out his
hand, and dragged the Admiral from his seat so rudely that the crown
upon his head fell to the ground. This, done, he himself sat down in
the Admiral's chair, and said, "My will is that you pay me the
tribute that you were wont to pay my brother, for that which was his
has by right come to me. Yet I offer you this grace, you shall
choose you two men who may fight a joust with me. If they can
overcome me, then shall you and your land be free of your tax; but if
I overcome them, then shall you pay the double."
When the Admiral heard these words, he said to his knights, "Now is
the time that you may requite all the kindness that I have done you,
and all the gifts which I have given you. And if gratitude be
lacking, then I will say this also; if any man will come forth to
fight in single combat with this giant, to him will I give my
daughter Esclairmonde in marriage, and after my death he shall have
all my lands for his inheritance."
For all this no man came forth, for the Saracens were sorely afraid
of the giant. Then said Esclairmonde to her father, "Sir, it was
told you that the French knight, Huon by name, whom you cast into
prison, was dead of hunger. This is not so in truth. Huon yet
lives, and I promise you that he will fight with this giant."
So the Admiral sent to the dungeon for Huon and his company. And
when Huon was set before him, it could be seen that he was in good
case, though somewhat pale because of being shut up. "You have found
a good prison," said the Admiral. "Yea," answered Huon, "and I thank
your daughter therefor. But tell me now why you have sent for me."
Said the Admiral, "See you that giant? He has challenged any man,
yea, any two men, and I can find none that are willing to fight with
him. Now, therefore, if you will fight with him and overcome him,
then you and all your company shall return to King Charlemagne. Also
I will give into your hands a present for the King; I will engage
also to send him year by year a like present for head money; also I
will bind myself to serve him with such a host as he may require.
Verily I would sooner be his bond-slave than pay tribute to this evil
giant. But if you rather choose to abide with me, then will I give
you my daughter Esclairmonde in marriage, and with her the half of my
kingdom."
"Sir," said Huon, "willingly will I fight with this giant. But first
you must give me back my horn and my cup that were taken from me."
"It shall be done," said the Admiral, and he commanded that they
should give the horn and the cup to Huon. These Huon delivered to
Gerames to keep for him. After this he armed himself for battle.
And when the Admiral saw him duly equipped for the fight, he said,
"This is as goodly a knight as ever I beheld."
When the giant and Huon came together in the field, the giant asked
this question, "What is your kinship to the Admiral that you are
willing to fight for him?" Huon answered him, "I am not of kin to
him, I am a Frenchman born, and I slew your brother." "That is ill
hearing," said the giant; "nevertheless I am thankful to Mahomet that
he gives me occasion to revenge my brother's death; yet, for I see
that you are a brave man, if you will worship Mahomet, I will give
you my sister in marriage--and she is a foot higher than I and black
as a coal--and the half of my lands." Huon answered, "I will have
none of your lands or your sister. It is time to fight."
Then the two, setting their spears in rest, charged at each other,
and this so fiercely that their spears were broken in pieces and
their horses borne to the ground. But the two leapt lightly to their
feet, and next the giant would have stricken Huon with a great blow,
but Huon leapt lightly to one side so that the giant missed his
stroke. But Huon in his turn smote the giant in the helm, and cut
off his ear. Then the giant was sore afraid and cried to Huon, "I
yield me to you; I pray you to do me no hurt."
The Admiral was greatly pleased with the victory, and Esclairmonde
had even greater joy. When Gerames saw what had befallen, he said to
the Admiral, "Know that I am no Saracen, no, nor nephew of yours, but
I came to look for my lord, Huon of Bordeaux." The Admiral, when he
heard this, said, "Of a truth it is hard to be aware of the craft and
subtlety of these Frenchmen."
Meanwhile Huon came and delivered up the giant to the Admiral. The
giant knelt down, and said, "I did think myself the most mighty man
upon the whole face of the earth, and that not ten men could prevail
over me, but now am I overcome by one only. Therefore I submit
myself to you and crave your pardon." "My pardon you shall have,"
answered the Admiral, "if you will promise not to trespass against me
hereafter, and will swear to be my man so long as you shall live."
"I promise," and kneeling down in the sight of all, he swore he would
be the Admiral's man.
These things finished, the Admiral and his chief lords, with the
Frenchmen, sat down to dinner. At dinner Huon took the cup that
Oberon had given him, and showed it to the Admiral saying, "See now
what happens when I make this sign." And when he had made the sign
of the cross, lo! the cup was filled with wine. Then he gave the cup
into the Admiral's hand, and straightway the wine vanished away. The
Admiral greatly marvelled at the sight, and said, "You have enchanted
me." "Nay, sir," answered Huon, "this is no enchantment. This thing
is a sign that you are full of sin. And now I beseech you to forsake
your false gods and to be christened. Verily if you will not do this
thing, I will overrun your palace and your whole city with armed
men." "Now listen," cried the Admiral, "to this over-bold Frenchman!
He hath lain in my prison for the half of a year, and now, forsooth,
he will overrun my city with armed men. I marvel much where he will
find them!" "Nevertheless," said Huon, "you had better do this
thing." "I would not do it," answered the Admiral, "if Charlemagne
and all his host were here."
Then Huon blew the horn. And Oberon heard it where he sat in his
palace, and said, "Hark! there is the horn once more, and methinks it
sounds true." And he wished, "I would be in Babylon with one hundred
thousand armed men." And straightway it happened as he wished. So
Oberon and Huon overran the city of Babylon. All that would not be
baptized they slew, and among them the Admiral, who was stout in
refusing to leave his false gods, and all that consented to be
baptized he saved alive. And Huon took to himself the Admiral's
sceptre, and then Oberon wished again, and straightway he and Huon
and all his company and the fair Esclairmonde were on the shore of
the sea. And he caused that a goodly ship should be ready to take
them to their own land. So Huon embarked with the fair Esclairmonde
and all his people; also they took with them the chief treasures of
the city of Babylon.
Then Oberon bade farewell to Huon, saying, "See now that you tell the
truth and keep you from sin; so shall you prosper all your days, and
come to bliss when your days are ended. And now render me again the
cup and the horn, for you need them no more."
Then Huon and his company and the fair Esclairmonde departed in the
ship, and in time came to the land of France. There did Huon render
to Charlemagne the Admiral's sceptre; and the King received him into
his royal favour, and gave him back his lands. Then was Huon wedded
to the fair Esclairmonde, and these two lived together in great
happiness to their lives' end.
Not long after that Huon had been restored to his Duchy of Bordeaux,
the Emperor Charlemagne died, having been seized by a fever, which,
as being now old and worn out by many labours both in war and peace,
he was unable to resist. There had been, it is said, many signs of
his death--eclipses of the sun and moon, and other marvellous things.
Also, when he was making his last expedition against the Danes, he
saw a great light, as it were a blazing torch, pass through a clear
sky and fall to the ground; and the horse on which he was riding fell
to the ground with great violence. Also the palace in which he dwelt
at Aachen was shaken by earthquakes, and in the Church which he
himself had founded there happened this portent, that the word
PRINCEPS, in the inscription which recorded this his munificence, so
faded away that it could no longer be read. So Charlemagne died on
the 28th of January in the year of Our Salvation, 814. He was buried
in a sepulchral chamber in this same Church of Aachen. Many years
after, the chamber having been opened, the body of the Emperor was
found seated on a throne as if he yet lived, clothed with imperial
robes, bearing on his head the crown, and grasping the sceptre in his
hand, while by his side lay his sword Joyous, and on his knees was a
book of the Gospels.
In life he was of a tall and strong person, being seven feet in
height. His eyes were large and piercing, his hair and beard long.
He was of pleasant speech, and could speak other tongues besides his
own. Writing he strove to acquire in his mature years, but could not
learn the art. He was in truth a very noble and mighty prince.
UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, PRINTERS, WOKING AND LONDON.
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